The Great, Great Trouble
by Blacklabel
Summary: Knowledge is power and power is trouble and trouble always finds Captain Jack Sparrow : CotBPverse, new chapter 12 JULY
1. A Great, Great Tale

**Jack Sparrow and The Great, Great Trouble  
**_gold borrowed from Disney, silver spun by Blacklabel_

Deep in the jungle—dark and damp to say the least—upon a lost island shaped like the moon lays in secret a powerful sword. Now, cliché aside, the thing is truly magnificent. Unmatched, it is, by all other secret, powerful swords, by any measure. A glittering blade of emerald ice _topped_ with a golden handle _topped_ with a glowing orb of infinite wisdom… it is the Sword of Ahku Neko Neko Khar—the One Great Great God.

"Ahku Neko Neko Khar," Will Turner repeated, his brown eyes steady upon those of the pirate. "The One God."

"The One _Great Great_ God." Jack Sparrow pointed out the difference with a ringed finger to the air. "Don't forget the Neko Neko. It's very important."

Will's brows rose.

"As I was saying…"

When Ahku _Neko Neko_ Khar ruled the world, he did so with an utmost respect for prosperity and peace. Wise, he was said to be. Wise beyond all time with full, unemcompassable knowledge of all things. Of course, this was a sore spot for the other Gods and Goddesses, who were not as bright. A few pence short of a pound they were, so to speak. In a none too surprising turn of events, the Gods and Goddesses did something that was—very stupid. They planned an uprising to force Ahku _Neko Neko_ Khar into bestowing his knowledge upon them—which ultimately meant that Ahku _Neko Neko_ Khar would no longer truly be the One _Great Great_ God. They would be the other Gods beside him, all with an equal share in the weight of the world and its secrets.

Now, normally, this would be a brilliant plan. But, as luck and lack of scruples would have it, the Gods and Goddesses forgot something very important.

"They forgot the Neko Neko."

Dark eyes gleamed in the light of the fire as Jack gave a small nod.

The Gods and Goddesses turned to a God by the name of Tetetuzu. Well, Tetetuzu wasn't exactly the most amiable deity. His idea of fun was war and violence and generally any sort of mayhem, chaos, and disorder. Unfortunately, he was also the second most knowledgeable chap in the universe. Now, one plus one is two—that's an incredibly volatile mixture just waiting for an excuse to explode. Coincidentally, Tetetuzu had never much cared for Ahku Neko Neko Khar and his respect for peace above all else. Personality clash of the worst kind and reason enough to plot the divine takeover.

But what Tetetuzu and the rest of the Gods and Goddesses forgot was that Ahku Neko Neko Khar was called such because he was the One Great Great God—wise beyond all time with full, unemcompassable knowledge of all things. Which, of course, included their every plot and plan. Worse though, was that Ahku Neko Neko Khar knew also that he would succumb to their schemes. It was not in the great Peacemaker to fight such a battle, not even with the evil Tetetuzu.

"But if Tetetuzu won, peace on earth would be no more."

Fortunately, Ahku Neko Neko Khar took that into consideration. As Tetetuzu and the loony lot of deities planned their stand, Ahku Neko Neko Khar decided that in the best interest of all of creation, a sacrifice was necessary. A God could only offer what knowledge and insight he possessed. As the other deities made their way to the One Great Great God's palace, Ahku Neko Neko Khar was ridding himself of all of the knowledge they so desired.

When Tetetuzu and the Loony Lot found Ahku Neko Neko Khar, they were stunned. For the One Great Great God was no more and in his place stood a mute and meek deity, stripped of all wisdom and sense. Enraged was Tetetuzu, but none the wiser. He would never know the secret as to where lay the great knowledge and wisdom of Ahku Khar. For into a sword of emerald the One Great Great God had passed His knowledge, and into the orb atop its handle He had passed His wisdom, and to the earth He had ordered it by winged messengers to be hidden from all, save for one, for all of time to come.

Will turned away from the pirate after his dramatic sigh of a conclusion. He considered Jack's story, making sense of what the pirate had told him. It was not that he took the tale seriously. Rather, it was a well-learned sense of suspicion he had come to adopt over the course of their friendship, and several high seas adventures gone wrong, that required his complete and utter attention to the every detail of Jack's woven web of words.

"Hiding in a jungle is a mythical sword that once belonged to a mythical deity."

Baubles bounced as the pirate nodded.

"And you want it."

"I might. Might want it. Perhaps."

Will nodded. "And how do you propose finding this mythical sword that once belonged to a mythical deity if said sword is hiding in a jungle on a _lost_ island and only to be revealed to _one_ for all of time to come?"

"It seems to me that you have once again forgotten something very important, Mr. Turner. So for your sake, I shall remind you..." Jack grinned, gold glinting in the firelight. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!"


	2. No Means Go

"No."

"But it'll be fun!"

"I can not go," Will told him. "Jack needs me."

"Yes! So you'll go?"

"No!" He sighed. "Not you, Jack. We named our son Jack."

Jack scowled. "Why is it someone's always _naming_ something after me?"

The small smile Will managed as he pounded a piece of iron into shape turned to a frown. From his work he looked to the pirate and his gaze narrowed. "Why do _you_ need me?"

Wide-eyed, Jack held up both hands. "Easy, lad." His gaze flit from the blacksmith to the heavy sledge in his hand and back again, a wavering smile twitching his lips. "The last time I saw one of those in your hand I remember not remembering very much."

Will looked down at the cause for Jack's alarm and smothered a laugh as he hefted it in the air and glared at the backstepping pirate. "Tell me why you need me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, mate." Jack stepped over a brick. "Really, is this any way to treat a—pirate?" He stepped back again, over a ceramic jug. "Not to mention a well-meaning, 'good man' of a pirate who knew your father, saved your bonny lass from drowning, and rid the world of Barbossa and his _not-alive-but-neither-are-they-dead_ crew of miscreants?"

"You've forgotten wanting to trade my life for a ship, risking both of our lives and that of Elizabeth numerous times, nearly getting us both hanged several times, and—" Will paused, shaking the sledge at what he hoped seemed dangerously close to his friend's embellished head, "setting fire to Governor Swann's wig!"

"That—" Jack paled, eyes on the threatening tool, and backed his way over a wooden beam, "was purely accidental." His brows came together as he pointed a finger in the air. "Twas a fire hazard just waiting to happen!"

"And one I have not yet managed to live down!"

"Still livid, is he?"

"No. But it has become yet another reason to scoff at the name of his daughter's husband." Will scowled and hefted the sledge higher, sending Jack tumbling over a crate, hands grasping empty air, and onto his backside. "What do you want? I should have known the intention of your visit was not to trade stories over a spot of tea. I should have known that there was something that you wanted of me. What is it this time, Jack?"

Jack's mouth drew inward and then pressed itself in a line. He rolled his eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Alright! But would you please put that horrific hammer away? Just _looking_ at it is giving me a headache!" Climbing to his feet, he winced and rubbed at his offended rump. "And I don't need one of those on top of the pain you always seem to cause in my backside."

Will laid the sledge down and nodded toward a suitable spot for what he could only imagine would be a tedious conversation. He turned to offer Jack the bench, but the pirate had already perched upon the barrel and was tapping a boot against it, waiting for him to sit. He did.

"I don't _need_ you," Jack told him. "Not really. It's just always best to have…" His dark eyes fell upon the many finely crafted swords about the place. "A skillful hand about. And while you are definitely the dullest son of a pirate I've ever encountered, you are certainly sharp with and a master of…" He nodded at the closest—a perfectly balanced, gold-topped beauty. "The blade."

The flush that rose into his face Will hid as he reached for the sword Jack mentioned, remembering suddenly how rare it was that they saw each other. Handle in one hand and blade flat against the other palm, he presented it to his friend. "I can't believe I nearly forgot to give this to you."

Jack arched a brow. "What?"

"I made this for you," Will explained. "To make up for the one I lost to the sea."

"You really shouldn't have, mate." Jack Sparrow leapt down from his perch and ran an appraising fingertip along the length of the shining metal. He accepted the handle from Will and brought it up in defense against the barrel as if it were an attacking enemy. Then he whistled. "Beautiful work, that. Perfectly balanced," he noted, giving it a gentle toss and catching it with ease. He brought the handle up to examine the careful etching in the simple handle. "And a work of art. When I said you were a master swordsmith, I meant it."

"Consider it consolation."

Jack frowned. "For?"

"I can not go with you this time, Jack. A friend of ours is…" Will blushed. "Giving Jack lessons in the art of the sail."

"What?" This time both brows rose. "Who?"

"Captain—"

"You're having some simple sailor school your son, in whose veins flows the blood of Bootstrap Bill Turner, on _the art of the sail_?" Jack sheathed the new sword and balled his hands into fists at his sides. "When his Uncle Jack's got a bloody pirate ship and plenty of free time on his hands?"

"How was I to know you would grace us with your presence?" Anger had crept into Will's voice surely as it had projected Jack's. "It's been a month at most since we last saw you and it usually takes more than that for Captain Jack Sparrow to unearth trouble and drag us into his plot to go after it."

"Trouble! Treasure is not trouble!"

"I suppose it's not supposed to be," Will conceded. He narrowed his eyes on Jack. "But if it's treasure you're after it's bound to be nothing but trouble."

Jack tsked.

"Which is why after you left last time Elizabeth and I decided that sailing lessons would benefit Jack greatly. If he's going to call Captain Jack Sparrow _Uncle Jack_ he should at least know how to look after himself on a ship. Since we're never sure when Uncle Jack is going to call on us to go looking for tr—"

"Treasure."

"Trouble."

Jack rolled his eyes and glowered at Will. For all the years between them, both his son Jack and the pirate Jack reacted to his scolding much the same way. "Alright," the pirate growled. He leaned an elbow on the barrel and slapped his other hand on his hip, evoking all of the authority of a seaworn pirate captain. "Since it is not me salted self teachin your first born the ropes, I suppose you've run off and got him the next best thing?"

"Captain Groves."

Jack shrugged. "Royal Navy War Hero second best to Captain of the _Black Pearl_… I'd say that's about right." He fixed Will with a glare. "He best know how to tie every knot and haul every line next time he boards me ship. Not that I doubt the boy's ability. It is in his blood, afterall."

"He takes to it well," Will agreed. "Better than I. When I show up at the cove, I find myself lost while Jack's spinning circles around me. He is a fast learner on ship. Some of the proper names for sails he has trouble with, but he tries very hard to remember them."

"Sounds dedicated."

"Yes. And Groves is a thorough teacher. He takes Jack on for a bit each day." He smiled. "Next time Jack boards your ship, I wouldn't be surprised to hear him telling _you_ a thing or two about sailing."

Jack grinned. "I can hardly wait till next time." He straightened up, fixing the hat on his head and smoothing the cuffs of his coat before he stuck his hand at the blacksmith. "Well Mr. Turner, you have work to do and I've trouble to find."

Will shook it and watched Jack walk away. "I thought you said treasure wasn't trouble."

The pirate paused at the door and cocked his head to the side. "Did I?" He winked, and was gone.

On the way home from the smithy, Will noted the empty harbor with a heavy heart. The _Black Pearl_ had gone as quickly as she had come. And she had taken her captain with her. While Will had grown accustomed to the way that Jack slipped in and out of his life, he had never gotten used to fearing for him when they parted ways. It was no better a feeling knowing that Jack had his heart set on finding what would most likely be more trouble than it was worth, and for a moment his hand hesitated on the handle of the door as he considered trying to find the _Black Pearl_ before it was too late.

Perhaps, he thought, if he found Jack and if they went together to find whatever it was he was after, nothing bad would happen.

Then the door swung open and hit him on the nose.

"Oh!" Elizabeth gasped. "Will! You're bleeding!"

He groaned and swiped at his lip, wincing at the sticky feel of blood on his skin. "So much for nothing bad happening."

"I'm so sorry!" She produced a linen from the pocket of her shirt and attended to his injury with the care of a mother's touch. Her warm gaze met his and she smiled. "Hold this. Tip your head back."

"Do you think it is broke?"

"No. Only bleeding."

"Well that's a relief." He sighed and leaned against the brick of the house. "Jack's left."

"Yes, I heard." She snuggled up against him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. "And I knew that you would worry. But you forget that he is more than capable of taking care of himself. You forget that he is a pirate, Will."


	3. Hiding Pirates

Early in the morning, dawn only just having broke over Port Royal, Will woke from his sleep and dragged himself from the soft reaches of their bed. Elizabeth stirred ever so slightly in her sleep, her arms seeking the warmth that left the bed with him. The small gesture drew a sigh from his lips before he brushed a kiss to her cheek. So early it was that he wished only to crawl back into bed to warm his wife in his arms, but the glow of the light that spilled from the window to the beams of the floor meant that it was time to rise and ready himself for another day of sun and sea.

He was tying his hair back when his son burst through the door. He stole a look at Elizabeth but was not surprised to find that she had not been woken by the noise. It occurred to him that the woman could sleep through anything, save for his leaving her side, and that perhaps with a son like theirs it was a good thing.

It wasn't that Jack was what was considered a child of bad temperament. He did not sass or bicker. Nor did he rip the house to shreds like most boys his age were so inclined to do. In fact, most of the time their son was extremely cautious and careful in everything that he did. The rest of the time, however, he was a veritable whirlwind of energy whose enthusiasm got the best of him—or whoever happened to be around when it took him.

Bursting through doors was nothing new for Jack. The boy pushed a lock of chestnut hair behind his ear, golden eyes shining up at his father. "Good morning Da. Breakfast's on the table!" Quickly as he'd rushed in he rushed out.

Will paled and snuck another glance at Elizabeth before sticking his head out the door after his son, who was bounding down the steps. "Your mother would crow if she found out—"

"I didn't use the fire!" He disappeared around the corner.

Will sighed and ducked back into the bedroom. Tugging his vest on, he ventured to the window to gaze out at the harbor. Hope rose in his chest when sails filled his eyes, but it quickly deflated. They were white sails. And the ship they belonged to was a small fishing sloop—not the grand black beauty that belonged to his friend. He sighed and forced the pirate from his mind, turning from the window to find his boots.

A knock sounded on the door before he could grab them.

"I'll get it!" His son's call echoed through the house as did louder, more insistent knocks. "I'm coming! Hold your horses!"

Will leapt across the room to stick his head out the door again. "Ask who it is before—"

"It's Murtogg and Mullroy!" Jack whipped the door open and grinned at the two soldiers. "Come in! I made breakfast!"

Will closed his eyes, hoping the day would not be as long as he imagined. Shoving his boots on, he cast a longing look at Elizabeth over his shoulder as he left the room. Three voices he heard as he hurried down the stairs toward the kitchen, where sat his son and stood the two redcoats, cheeks full of food that they promptly swallowed upon his entrance. "Good morning Murtogg, Mullroy. What brings you so early in the morn to our home?"

"Commodore's been sent a note," Mullroy said. "Says you're hiding a pirate in the smithy."

Murtogg smiled. "A Mr. Smith in the smithy!"

Mullroy rolled his eyes. "We were sent to check it out."

"I bet it's Uncle Jack!" Jack grinned and dunked a bit of bread into the creamy bowl of coffee. He swallowed hard and nodded. "I saw his ship yesterday in the harbor! The _Black Pearl_. Ever heard of it?"

Before either soldier could respond, Will glared at his son. "I thought you did not use the fire!"

Jack smiled and dunked another piece of bread. "I thought I didn't use the fire too!" He ate it. "I guess I forgot I used it. I'm sorry Da."

"We didn't want to barge in the place without you," Mullroy told Will. "In the case it was Sparrow and all. He's likely to cause a commotion even if we wouldn't drag him in. Being we never really catch him—"

"We catch him," Murtogg put in. "We caught him a couple times."

Mullroy sighed. "Being that he always escapes in some manner, the Commodore thinks it best to leave him be. 'Sides he's more amusing when left to his own devices, as it were."

Will shrugged. "That's true enough."

Murtogg chuckled.

"Commodore just wants to make sure there aren't no pirates gonna pop out and try to ransom you and yours to Sparrow. Get his attention by napping his friends or something of that sort," Mullroy finished.

"But this has happened before," Will protested. "It is probably another neighbor who spotted the _Pearl_ in the harbor and wished to stir trouble for us. You know better than most what the upper-class of Port Royal think of Jack being here…"

"Bloody blighters," Jack grumbled, biting into a piece of cheese.

Mullroy grinned.

"Watch your mouth, young man," Will advised, dunking his own piece of bread into the coffee.

"I thought that I heard voices." Elizabeth, wrapped in her lilac print robe, hurried into the kitchen, little Lucy on her hip and burying her face in her mother's arms. "This early in the morning it can only mean bad news."

"Morning Missus Turner," both soldiers intoned.

"Good morning. Will?"

He hurried to swallow the too-big bite and winced at the sharp pain in his throat as he did. "Norrington received a note which claimed a pirate to be hiding in the smithy. It's probably the neighbors again but the Commodore wants to be sure there's no threat or trouble." He sighed and looked at his son. "Until we find out, I think it would be best to keep in the house."

"No! Daaad," Jack whined, "I have sailing lessons! Captain Groves is waiting!"

"I am sure he would not object to your safety."

"But I'm supposed to climb the rigging today!"

"We'll go with him, Will," Elizabeth offered. "It's only a short ride away and once we get there I'm sure we'll be safe with Captain Groves and his crew."

"I am sure Groves will not appreciate little Lucy's presence, Elizabeth. And what if there is danger afoot?"

"Nonsense. Everyone loves Lucy! And you said yourself it's probably the neighbors again," she pointed out. "And don't forget who your wife is, Will Turner. I am not and never was the type of damsel that could not protect herself from distress."

Will smiled, remembering the young fiery woman in Elizabeth. His wife had not changed in demeanor, but had also grown to be such a tender mother and wife that at times he forgot what sparked beneath her softness. "Alright," he agreed, squeezing her hand. "I'll not be far and I'll be to the cove as soon as I can." He ruffled his daughter's sun-streaked hair. "Be a good girl, little Lucy."

"Yes okay," she agreed, her little voice sleepy.

"Ma!" Jack's distress was growing louder. "You and Lucy can't go! Women are bad luck on ships!"

Murtogg and Mullroy's snickers were silenced by the woman's glare.

"If that is the sort of thing that Captain Groves is teaching you perhaps he should not be teaching you at all!"

"No, that I learned from Mister Gibbs," Jack told her.

"Oh, get on you," she chided, laying her hands on his shoulders and hustling him out the hallway, "to the upstairs. Help us ready ourselves for our day of sailing!"

Will watched them go and followed the redcoats out of his home. To his dismay, no coach awaited them. The walk to the smithy was a long one, and the walk back was uphill. To make matters worse it was a beautiful sunny day out—which meant it would be sweltering by noon.

"So," Murtogg asked as they slipped through the gate, "did Jack Sparrow really turn down the Gift of Midas' Touch?"

Will sighed. The day _was_ going to be as long as he'd imagined.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"No boat!"

"It's a _ship_," Jack told his sister, tugging her away from the coach. "And too bad, you're gonna go on it!"

"But the sea," she whispered, her dark eyes filling with tears.

"Don't worry Lucy, Mama will be with you," Elizabeth told her, picking the girl up. She looked her daughter in the eye and smiled. "The water won't get you."

The trail that wound down to the cove was a long one. Parts of it were particularly craggy, and some spots were grown over. Elizabeth would normally have no trouble following her son on it, but with a child in her arms it was a different story. Not only was it hard to see around the girl to the ground, it was difficult to maneuver oneself in tight spaces. And it felt, Elizabeth thought wryly, as if little Lucy was not so little anymore.

Jack sighed and ran ahead, kicking at pebbles along the way. He turned and waited for his mother and sister, hands on his hips. "Come on! I'll be late!"

"Better late than facing an angry mother," Elizabeth warned. "Don't run ahead again, Jack. We still do not know if danger lurks and though you seem to enjoy making a mess of yourself, I would rather get you to the _Tracer_ in one piece."

"Why'd you have to bring her?" Jack folded his arms and sulked as he slowed pace in front of them. "She'll bawl her eyes out the whole time being over the water."

Little Lucy whined and hid her face in her mother's hair.

Elizabeth swatted at her son's shoulder. "She is your sister! You apologize, Jack William Turner!"

"No." He glared at her and ran ahead.

"Get back here!" Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from cussing after her son. "Jack Turner! Something could happen to you!" As he disappeared around a corner, her brows crossed. "_Are you listening to me_?"

"_I can't hear you!_"

"Bloody children," she muttered darkly.

Angry, she tightened her arms around her daughter and stepped faster. Tiny lizards darted out in front of her, slowing her gait and etching lines of frustration on her forehead. Panic rose into her throat when she realized that she could no longer hear her son—no snapping twigs or sliding pebbles—speeding down the trail. Ducking her head, she broke into a run, simultaneously trying to breathe and soothe a whimpering child and keep from taking a nasty spill to the rocks, which felt very unforgiving under her feet. When she came to the clearing at the bottom, she spotted Jack's gleaming chestnut locks and heaved a sigh of relief.

The boy was standing at the edge of the dock, stock-still. Then, suddenly, he darted forward, a flash of blue against the well-worn wood. Elizabeth's gaze followed him, and her mouth dropped open. Her son was throwing his arms around a grinning Captain Jack Sparrow.


	4. The Pirate's Plan

"Oi! Uncle Jack, you know what I've been—"

"What are you doing here, Jack?" Elizabeth ignored her excited son and glared at the pirate as she made her way down the swaying dock. "Everyone in Port Royal saw you leave yesterday. I hardly imagine you missed it so much in one night that you had to turn back. Nor do I suppose you are sunning yourself while hiding your ship in this private inaccessible cove."

The pirate parked a hand on his hip and flicked air with the other. "Why not?"

"Because you do not do anything without purpose. What is it this time?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was about to kidnap you and the children, row you out to the Pearl, boost you aboard, and wait for dear William to come tumbling after?"

She lifted her chin. "No."

Jack smiled.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Will sighed.

They had checked every nook and cranny of the smithy, and then they had checked it again. It had to be obvious that there was no pirate, Jack Sparrow or otherwise, hiding amidst the swords, anvils, and tongs. The only other living, breathing thing in the place was the donkey that seemed none too thrilled by the presence of the three men at so early an hour. He paused to pet the aggravated animal's muzzle, hoping it would calm the donkey's frayed nerves and get it to stop braying. And he hoped that the two soldiers would be satisfied and stop asking questions about Jack Sparrow as they searched through the things that they had already searched through.

"I heard he's secretly friends with the King," Murtogg piped up. "I don't suppose you'd know if that were true?"

"No, I don't know," Will lied.

"How about the ghost story of the _Black Pearl_?" Mullroy asked. "The one about how she's haunted and guided by the ghost of Sparrow's dead lover?"

Will frowned. "I never heard that one."

"Sad story," Murtogg told him. "Sailors wonder how the _Pearl's_ so fast as she is. So one time this old salt comes in the pub and me and Groves are having a mug of ale together. Old salt says he's got a tale to tell about Captain Jack Sparrow and his beautiful ship so we're all ears."

"Murtogg's fascinated by the _Black Pearl_," Mullroy said, rolling his eyes. "Thinks she's mystical."

"She is!" Murtogg scowled at the other soldier. "Anyways old salt tells us Sparrow lost his one true love back in England. She was a real beauty. Red hair, blue eyes, pale skin. Always wore a black feathered shawl. Name was Pearl."

"Bet you didn't see that one coming."

Murtogg scowled at Mullroy before turning to Will with a solemn face. "So Sparrow and Pearl go on this pleasure cruise but the thing is fired on and it starts sinkin. Rowboats are splinters, and people's bobbin in the water. Well, the water's real cold. So cold you can see your breath while you're treading water to keep warm and afloat. Sparrow's knocked out in the water and Pearl finds a piece of ship that's floating. Hauls Jack up on it and tries to get on herself. But it starts sinkin with her weight so she gets back off."

"Selfless act of love," Mullroy added, examining a barrel. "Real touching."

"When he wakes he finds her frozen there and realizes what she did to save him, he vows 'I'll never let you go'. So eventually a rowboat finds him. He's the only floater they find alive. He goes back home and he's heartbroken. Sees Pearl in everything and everywhere. Sparrow's miserable. Then one day he's at the docks and sees this beautiful ship."

"Bet you can't guess what ship it is," Mullroy said, smiling at Will.

"So Sparrow asks around to find out whose ship it is and no one knows what he's talking about. When he looks again it's gone; sailed on he thinks. So he goes on home. But no, the next night he sees the same ship in the harbor and he says to himself 'I got to get on that ship'. So he takes a boat and rows to it and finds no one on it. But he feels like there is someone, you know, gets the pricklies all over. So he walks out on deck after searchin for people and lo and behold there's his dead love Pearl."

"Not grotesque-like," Mullroy explained. "Just saw her ghost is all."

"Pearl tells him 'this is my gift to you, Jack'. He says he would rather have her back. She says she'll always be with him aboard the ship, guiding them, and they'll sail so fast no ship could ever catch up. He says 'if you can make a ship materialize, certainly you can bring yourself back'. She says 'I'm sorry Jack. I'll never let go.' And then she disappears. But he knows she was with him in spirit before because she repeated his vow. So he decides to leave England on the ship, where Pearl can be with him always."

Will considered the story.

"That one true?"

"No," he decided. "Jack's one true love is the _Pearl_, but she was never a living woman."

"Don't tell him that!" Mullroy sighed. "He'll cry."

"I will not!" Murtogg scowled at him. "You're the one who didn't believe _Black Pearl_ existed!"

"Not this again," Mullroy rolled his eyes, wandering off to the other side of the forge.

"I told him," Murtogg grinned, "that _Black Pearl_ was a real ship."

Will sighed.

"I heard Jack Sparrow's got a direct link to hell," Murtogg offered. "That true?"

"You have searched this entire place," Will pointed out. "Might we leave?"

"The Commodore got a note!" Mullroy rejoined the other two men. "He takes notes seriously. What if there's a pirate here?"

Will raised a brow. "Do you see a pirate here?"

Mullroy produced a piece of parchment from his breast pocket. "I see a note which the Commodore received which says there's a pirate here."

"But there's not!" Will sighed. "And this has happened _before_ with the same result!"

"Yes I know," Mullroy sighed. "But we have to be certain _again_ that it's nonsense."

"What does the note say?"

"We are not supposed to read it."

"If you may not read it, may I?"

"No!" Murtogg grabbed the note. "If we can't read it, you can't read it."

"Why not?"

"Because!" Mullroy grabbed it back. "It's only logical."

Will glared at him.

"Excuse me?" A new voice, deep and clear, joined theirs. Theodore Groves, in uniform, stood hesitant at the door, worry darkening his handsome face. He stepped through and considered them, his blue eyes weary. "Will? I received your note this morning—"

"What note? You're supposed to be at the cove with my son!"

Groves frowned and fished a piece of parchment from his pocket. "This note. The note that says you would not require my services this morning as you are readying to set sail yourself."

"But Elizabeth and Lucy!" Will growled and glared at the other soldiers. "What does your note say?!"

Mullroy paled. "I'll read it! Here's what it says: Dearest Commodore. As a concerned citizen of Port Royal I feel it is my duty to inform you that it has come to my attention that a most unsavory fellow is, at present, taking shelter in the Turner smithinghouse. Please do send my regards and further consolation to Master Swordsmith Turner as I hear his son Jack has a most important sailing lesson this morning. The interruption will be quite a pity."

"That's an odd note," Murtogg frowned.

Will snatched both pieces of parchment and his eyes narrowed on the scrawly writing. "That bloody pirate!"

Caring not whether the two soldiers and the sailor would object, he grabbed the sword closest to him and left them standing there, tossing the notes to the ground. Elizabeth had been right, he realized, stalking uphill. He had forgotten that Jack Sparrow was a pirate.

In the doorway of the smithy, Murtogg and Mullroy frowned after him, then at the puzzled Groves, and then at each other.

Murtogg shrugged. "Sparrow's doing, you think?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"This is egregious!"

"Well if you'd have just played along," Jack lamented, heaving a great sad sigh. A hint of a smile formed on his lips and he winked at the boy. "Girls, aye?"

Elizabeth struggled to free her wrists of the rope he'd bound them with, glaring up at the two Jacks as they stared down at her from the dock. The pirate had tied and then tossed her, with all the grace of heaving a flopping fish on deck, into a rowboat. And then he and his namesake had grinned down at her, neither of them noticing the pure look of shock horror upon the face of little Lucy.

"You're in big trouble, Jack," she told her son as he hopped down into the boat.

"Yes," the pirate answered, hopping down after him, "exactly what I was looking for!" He looked up at the girl on the dock and threw open his arms. "Come on, little love. Come to Uncle Jack!" When the girl didn't budge, he reached for her and wrapped his arms around her.

Little Lucy let loose a bloodcurdling scream.

Jack Sparrow whirled around, wide-eyed, the little girl clinging to his coat. He tried, desperately, to loose her hold on him amidst the ear-splitting shrieks that tore through the air. Nearly tumbling overboard, his shoulders inches from the water, he winced when the girl screamed against his ear and then he fell forward on his knees in the wooden vessel.

"What the bloody hell is the matter with her?" he demanded over the caterwauling wails issuing from the tiny girl.

Elizabeth smiled a glare at him. "She is afraid of the sea," she declared. "If you were looking for trouble, Captain Sparrow, you have found it indeed."


	5. Seamen's Folly

Sun spilled into Commodore Norrington's office, bathing the entire room in golden glow. Warm though it was, he sat at his desk in full dress, filling in a ledger book. His finger drawing down the page, he clucked his tongue at the number he knew to be incorrect in the line, and grumbled, scratching it out and replacing it with the right one. When a knock sounded at his door, his lip stiffened, irritation sweating upon his brow.

"Yes, come in."

Murtogg and Mullroy tramped in followed closely by Captain Groves.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "What's happened?"

"Well sir," Mullroy said, "we didn't find no pirates at the smithy."

"But Turner took off when we read the note," Murtogg said.

"I believe I gave an order not to read the note."

"Yes sir," Mullroy agreed, shooting a glare at Murtogg, "but it was extenuating circumstances that led us to read it."

Groves stepped forward. "Commodore Norrington, I received a note this morning that I believed came from William Turner. However it seems that it had not." He laid the two pieces of parchment on the desktop.

Norrington frowned.

"Turner took off 'fore we could question him, sir," Mullroy added.

"Compared both notes 'fore he left," Murtogg clarified, glancing at them. "Said something about a bloody pirate."

The Commodore sighed. He pushed his chair back. Standing, he turned and looked out his window to the open sea, where a brown bird dipped down and soared o'er the waves. "Sparrow," he agreed. He shook his head and turned back to face the three men. "I highly suspect it is more of his ridiculous though amicable nonsense. Nonsense which will not further inconvenience my office. Good day, gentlemen. Back to your duties it is."

Groves turned on his heel and left, Mullroy and Murtogg on his tail. Norrington watched them leave. With a bit of a smile, he turned back to his view of the ocean blue. So taken with the vista he was that he did not notice the head that popped in. Murtogg grinned at finding the Commodore enthralled and stepped forward to cross the threshold. A meaty hand, however, prevented him from doing so. A silent struggle ensued, both the disapproving Mullroy and the desperate Murtogg rumpling the other's coats and hair.

The Commodore turned around. Murtogg and Mullroy shot forward in the hallway, out of sight. Both frustrated, Murtogg finally shoved Mullroy down the hall and made to follow him.

Norrington resumed his watch of the sea.

Murtogg snuck in and crept toward the desk. His gaze flicked from the Commodore to the desk and back. The yellow parchment shone in his eyes, and he licked his lips. Quick as a whip, he snapped the notes up and shot out of the room, grinning at the glowering Mullroy who had come back too late. Then, with a skip in his step and the notes tucked into his pocket, he went whistling down the hall.

In the office, Norrington spun around. Finding the room empty, he frowned, and with a sigh and a scowl, he sat down and flipped open the ledger book, determined to finish what he'd started.


	6. Will's Big, Big Mistake

Will tore down the path that wound itself through a rocky outcropping, anger fueling the muscles carrying him on his legs. When he had first realized what Jack had done, when he had first saw the pirate's writing on the parchment—he had been angry. While he had sped up the hill, sweating and breathing hard, he had been furious. When he thought about his friend fooling him and using his family as means to do so, he had been beyond any degree of anger.

He flew over the last bit of path and pounded down the dock, not surprised to see the big black ship floating far off at the mouth of the cove that fed into the sea. The sight of the ship he had wished to see only hours earlier fueled the fire that burnt in his stomach.

He had been a fool to worry about Jack Sparrow, for Jack Sparrow was and always would be a bloody scallywag.

The rowboat tied to the end of the dock he leapt into, and glaring fiercely at the ship, he rowed toward it.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

As it happened, Little Lucy had quite a big set of lungs. She'd wailed while Jack Sparrow had rowed them out to the _Black Pearl_ and she'd wailed while the boat was hoisted. As the wincing pirate clambered to climb out of the boat and on deck, Little Lucy wailed and clung to Jack's faded coat.

"Make her stop!" Young Jack folded his arms. "She's gonna pop Uncle Jack's ears!"

"No," Elizabeth said. She lifted her chin and stepped as gracefully out of the boat as she could, glaring at the grinning Mister Gibbs as he came forward to take her arm. "I don't think I should."

Jack glowered at her, and then turned a gentler face down to the little girl. "Lucy, love, don't you remember your Uncle Jack? Come now darling, don't you cry. We're far from the water, you see?" Touching her nose, he flourished his hand out over the railing of the ship they stood behind. "See that?"

Miraculously, silence reigned.

"Praise the Good Lord," Jack Turner crowed, carefully avoiding the glare that his mother sent his way. "It's about time!"

Jack Sparrow was surprised that he did not hear choirs of angels' voices singing 'hallelujah' or note the appearance of a multitude of heavenly hosts. Relieved, he smiled down at her little head. "That's right, love. The sea is there, but Uncle Jack's got you. The _Black Pearl_ will protect you."

"The sea," Lucy whispered, biting her little bottom lip, eyes welling up with tears.

"Don't you worry little love," he said, letting her pick up the beaded lock that was her favorite, "you're safe. I won't let the water get you, Lucy. I promise."

"Don't you prom—"

"Elizabeth," he smiled at her, nodding at Gibbs, "perhaps you would enjoy freed wrists?"

"Right now," she grit out, "I would enjoy them immensely, I daresay."

Jack frowned and shook his head at Gibbs. "Later it is!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Will didn't bother slowing the boat as it neared the ship. In fact he pushed the last row of the oars with great force, sending the craft's bow smacking into the hull of the _Black Pearl_. Hearing the unmistakable stagger of boots above, he leapt to his feet. When Jack's head finally appeared above, Will snarled and drew his sword.

Jack glared down at the hull of his ship and then at the blacksmith. "_You put a dent in her_!"

"Yes! And I will do it again," Will promised, "if you do not return my family to me into this boat right now."

"You put a dent—in my ship!" Jack pointed at the ding that was nearly imperceptible to even the closer eye of Will. He growled and shook a finger at the blade-bearing Turner. "You put another dent in that hull, boy, and I'll set sail without you and teach this family of yours what trouble really means!"

At first, the warning struck at Will's heart, but then his eyes narrowed on the pirate. "You wouldn't let harm come to any one hair on their heads."

"No," Jack agreed, tossing his mane in the breeze, "you're right, I wouldn't." He ducked down, disappearing from view. When he stood up he smiled down at Will. "But I would sink that little boat of yours." Hands coming apart, the pirate dropped cannon shot.

Will watched, helplessly, as the heavy iron ball plunked right through the wood.

"Now," Jack said, "I'll make this simple for you, Will Turner. With that wee vessel already filling with water it seems you have yourself a little dilemma. You can either swim to shore or come aboard. Which'll it be?"

Jaw clenched, Will sheathed his sword. Scaling the ship did not seem difficult, though in fact, he was not sure he would have noticed if it were. For all of the anger tensing the back of his neck and burning his gut was an effective distraction. The only part of the climb he noticed was when his hands grasped railing, but it was only for a second. Then, carried swiftly over in a leap fueled by his fury, it was gone, and his sword was hissing from its scabbard and pricking a pinpoint of blood from Jack Sparrow's throat.

The pirate sighed.

"Unhand my family!"

Jack rolled his eyes and reached up to push the sword away.

"This is no game to me, _Pirate_," Will growled. Paying no heed to the many advancing men of Jack's crew, he stood his ground. Angry at the blatant disregard the man he'd considered friend had shown him, he jabbed the blade forward, the sharp tip tearing a tiny but threatening cut in the pirate's skin.

In the same beat, Sparrow's face changed. The half-mad, slightly amused dynamics fell away and in their wake slid a sheet of impenetrable ice. Laughing dark eyes lost their luster and narrowed dangerously as the smirk gave way to a terse jaw. In the blink of an eye, the sword was knocked clear away and the pirate had clenched in his hands the fabric of Will's shirt. When he dragged him close, he was silent save for the slight whisper of hot, angry breath escaping his lips.

The sound boiled Will's blood.

"Happy Birthday," Jack growled, "to you." And, hurling him away, he spun on his heel, stalked in silence to captain's quarters, and slammed the doors shut. The locking beam engaged with a loud snap from within, and then the furious tap of boots faded away into the distance.

Guilt flooded Will's anger.

"Nice one, William Turner," spat Anamaria, smacking him in the head and stalking off into the crowd of men.

Flushing under the accusatory gaze of the pirates, he turned to his wife. Hands to the sides of her face, Elizabeth's surprise seemed as great as his shame. When their eyes met, hers softened with sympathy, and his steps toward her heavied with the weight of guilt settling over him. He sighed and allowed her to fold him in her arms.

"Oh Will," she breathed, "In a week's time... I can't believe I forgot, but I did."

"We have been so busy that it did not cross my mind," he told her, closing his eyes. "And now I've crossed Jack."

"I believe we have both insulted Jack Sparrow today." Her voice turned acrid. "Though I have to say that perhaps he deserved it for this unecessary madness. Really, is it so difficult to celebrate a birthday with a simple cake and song?"

"Well," he sighed, "I came to the conclusion long ago that nothing is simple with Captain Jack Sparrow." He pulled back with a frown. "Where are the children?" He asked Elizabeth, followed her cautious gaze, turning to find his scowling son behind him. "Jack," he began, reaching for the boy. But his son ran off. Little Lucy, who had been hiding behind the boy, gaped up at him. When he reached for her, she squeaked and scurried off to hide behind the barely taller pirate called Marty. Will's shoulders sagged. "It was a mistake."

"Aye," Mister Gibbs agreed, "that it was. Jack and Jack'll come around, lad. Just ye give em time." Clapping him on the back with a too exuberant reassurance, the bright-eyed sailor turned to address the crew. "What ye waitin for? Weigh her up and put her to the east like Jack wanted!"


	7. Family Ties

Jack Turner snuck past the cot on which his parents and sister lay in sleep and crept up the stairs to the quiet decks of the _Pearl_. Careful to evade the attention of the stragglers that comprised his Uncle's moonlight crew, the boy skulked with the shadows toward the bowsprit. He cast a glance over his shoulder. Finding no pirates looking his way, he shot forward and climbed up, hooking a foot in the railing, to look out over the open ocean.

At night, the sea washed below the ship like ink. Black waves and silver swells broke against the hull as the _Black Pearl_ cut through, slicing toward its destination. Stars sparkled in both water and sky and moonbeams licked at the darkness, casting a chill glow o'er all they touched. In the velvety heat of the midsummer Caribbean, the rustling breeze was cool and the sting of the seaspray cooler.

In all of his nine years, Jack decided he had never experienced anything better.

Thinking of sailing always left him thinking about Uncle Jack. Gazing out at the sea always reminded him of the pirate whom he'd known since he could remember and whom loved his family as if it were his own. Only a year ago had Jack found that his beloved Uncle wasn't. After a rather frightful scuffle, his father had clarified that the pirate was not relation by blood. The revelation had been many things, but most of all it had been disappointing. He had, since he could remember, simply accepted his Uncle as brother to his father though they were as differenced as night and day. And he had thoroughly enjoyed the idea of sharing a bloodline with an infamous pirate.

After the initial letdown, however, he began to wonder why it was that such a man who did not share their heritage would care so much for them, even if they did care in return. Afterall, pirates were not known for their hearts of gold, and, for all their care of the other, Uncle Jack and his father clashed something terrible. They rarely saw eye-to-eye and bickered or fought more than they laughed. Later the two always reconciled, laughs were had and words were forgotten, but Jack remembered every bit as clearly as he remembered the skirmish that had darkened spirits only hours ago.

He stepped back into the shadows and followed them, heeding the crewmen, toward the door he knew led to his Uncle. Darting the few paces left, he knocked quietly. His golden gaze flicked about the deck to make certain he hadn't been heard, and when he received no answer, he knocked again.

"Unless the King's demanding answers," drawled a lilting voice through the wood, "mine is 'go away'."

Jack's brows knit in consternation as he decided to attempt a whisper. "Uncle, it's me!"

"In that case, get ye below!" The scowl on his face as evident in his voice, Jack Sparrow growled. "Fore your father gets even more sour than the lemonface he already is."

Sighing, the boy ducked into the shadows once more. After establishing that he had yet to be spotted he hurried below. Down the steps he went—right past the level where he knew his own quarters, the quarters of his parents, to be and onto the third. Quickly he padded past the kitchen and through the great hall and past the stores. His eyes narrowed in the darkness as his fingertips searched the wood. All along the wall he felt, until at long last, he found what it was he sought. Grinning, he dug his fingernails into the seam and pulled.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The moonlight that filtered down through the porthole was not enough to read by, and so, with barely a look up from his text, Jack Sparrow lit a match and brought flame to a candle. The warm light flickered over the pages. Satisfied, he pinched the match out between his fingers and laid it on the base of the brass lantern. Back to his book, his gaze filled with it, and he flipped the page to move onto the next.

Reading was something of a comfort to him. Even though it did naught to soothe his soul it did prove to be a compelling distraction enough to slightly improve his mood. And so when he had finally driven himself near to madness with the soul searching—"Have I really given him _that_ much reason not to trust me?"—and the pacing—_table, windows, table, chinoiserie, table_—and the drinking—"yo ho, yo—oh! I'm none too happy with _her_ either!"—and the fear that William Turner II— the only lemonface he'd ever really liked except for the lad's father himself—really did deem him despicable after all of the adventures and the arguments-turned-laughter and the… he had set about finding a book to read.

Normally the process was something of a snap but being that the day hadn't been snappy in any sort of way, he had only grumbled a bit when he could not find a book he had not read before. The problem, he figured, was that if he set to reading a book he'd read before it would not be much distraction and distraction was what he needed. After a poke through a cabinet and a dig through a chest, he had finally found and snagged a suitable thick tome. Grabbing a bottle of wine from a crate and plopping himself down on the chair under the porthole and next to the desk, he had cracked open the book and attempted to rid himself of at least some of the hurt that gnawed his insides.

Half a book, two bottles of wine, and moon shining in the window later, he had heard the familiar patter of Jack Turner's feet outside his cabin. At first he'd ignored the knocking, wanting not to see the boy who looked as a cross between his father and—of all people—the pirate captain himself and who had the uncanny ability to amuse the devil out of him. But then the lad had knocked again and he had hoped his surly, wine-drenched reply would send him back down to sleep. He should have known that it would not, but he had not known that young Jack would announce himself. Then he had been forced to sound angry enough to send the scamp running and he had felt, somewhere in the sloshing wine in his head, quite a bit worse for it.

It had been then, when he'd returned to his book so as not to dwell on anything else that might bother him, that he had realized that if he were going to continue to read, he would need more light. As he continued reading, the candlelight much improving the task, he thought of the shock that would reign on Commodore Norrington's face if the Navyman caught sight of such a thing, and he smiled. Shock reigned on his own face, however, as he realized that thinking about the stodgy fellow whose proper name was James, though he'd found out the hard way he was never to address the man as such, had cheered him up.

The realization not being a kind one, he quickly abandoned his text and sought the answer as to why such an anomaly had occurred. After much deliberation, he came to the startling conclusion that one of the reasons that the Commodore amused him so was that the bloke, in his bright shiny uniform, somehow reminded him of fine frozen custard. Of course, being that Jack fancied fine frozen custard, it was not a welcome conclusion. Tossing both the smug, smartly dressed Commodore and the delicious dessert out of his thoughts, he returned to, as quickly as he'd abandoned, his book.

So enthralled, he was, in the story that he thought nothing of the flash of color in the corner of his eye. So spellbound he was by the stirring speech of the dying damsel that he thought nothing of the patter of feet that met his ears. So rapt with the remorseful poetry, woeful words lingering on words, that he thought nothing of anything but it.

When the damsel had died away, he sighed. Lifting his gaze from the page to consider the meaning of it all, he found Jack Turner standing an arm's length in front of him. Heart skipping, he jumped, tossing the book in the air. It landed—_thud_!—on his head. He thwacked it onto the desk and reached gingerly for the sore spot. Scowling, he rubbed it. "Between you and your father, lad, I've more headaches than I ever bargained for."

"I'm sorry, sir."

The lad rushed forward, reaching his own little fingers to soothe the pirate's scalp. Jack frowned up at the boy so intent on his injury. The formal address wouldn't do, and he gave a slight shake of his head. When the young Turner met his gaze, he smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"That's Uncle Jack to you, my boy," he warned. Accepting an unanticipated hug, he patted the lad on the back. When he pulled away, his eyes narrowed. "Thought I told you to get below, Jack Turner."

"But I did," the boy said, eyes widening innocently.

Jack arched a brow.

"You never said what I was to do after going below so I found the hidden door and came to visit you," his counterpart explained, quirking a smile.

The pirate laughed.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

When Will woke, he was not surprised by the absence of his son. He was, however, surprised to find Lucy gone missing with Elizabeth still asleep. Their little girl was not fond of going anywhere without her mother and to see that she had, so early in the morning on a pirate ship upon the sea she dreaded no less, meant trouble. He was not worried, though, for he had a good idea that the trouble was with him.

Upset as they were with him, he still felt that he should find his children. Running a hand through his untied hair, he left Elizabeth sleeping and headed above. When he emerged into the sunshine he felt the heat, already stifling, and he was glad to have left off his vest. Grateful, he felt, for the whipping wind as it tamed the overwhelming warmth.

"Are ya going to stand there admiring the weather all day, William Turner?"

Startled, he moved aside for Anamaria, who shook her head and stalked past him to the helm. His gaze followed her, and it was there that he found an even more astonishing sight. A hatless, coatless, vestless, barefoot Jack Sparrow was tossing a laughing little Lucy into the air, her giggles turning to shrieks and dissolving into giggles again when he caught her. His son stood off to the side, laughing at his laughing sister, and the pirate looked and sounded just as happy as the children.

Any other day such a sight would have warmed his heart. Any other day he would have been happy to see three of the four people he cared for most in the world so blissfully enjoying each other. But it wasn't any other day. It was today, and today he felt as if he were the enemy.

Seeing his children happier with Jack Sparrow than they had ever seemed with him, especially little Lucy who had until this moment clung to her mother like glue, wrenched his heart in a way that he did not enjoy and fanned the flames of the anger that he had thought to have gone away. Wasn't it enough that his son idolized the pirate, or loved the sea enough as to swear on one day acquiring his own boat to captain, or adopted some of Jack's most irritating traits? Wasn't it even enough that Jack _looked_ like Jack—slender and with grace Will had never had, and with high cheekbones and that cunning smile? Did the pirate have to have his daughter too?

Though odd that his son resembled the pirate that they were not related to, it had never been a concern of his. For there was enough of Will and of Elizabeth in the boy to see that he was of their making. But little Lucy was every bit her mother, save for her dark eyes, eyes that were definitely as dark and as lovely as Jack's. Will had no doubt that she was every bit Turner, but for a reason he couldn't quite figure, it bothered him a great deal to see the resemblance in his daughter. And today, it bothered him a great deal to see the pirate in his son, and it bothered him a great deal to see all three of them so happy together while he looked on, knowing that their laughter would fade away as soon as they saw him.

"Scuse me, lad," Gibbs growled, bowling past him to check on what looked like loose lines.

Not wanting to be the rain on their sunny day, Will turned on his heel to return to his sleeping wife.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Up she goes!" Jack grinned, tossing the light little girl in the air and catching her in the downswing, and delighted in, laughing at, her giggles.

Little Lucy had come tiptoeing up the steps as he was shouting morning's orders, and he had kept an eye on her as she crept cautiously toward him through the swarms of working men. When she had stood at his feet, he had stared down at her, debating whether or not she would try splitting his ear if he picked her up. She had stared back. Then she had reached her arms up, squeezed her little hands and asked, "Up please?"—and he had picked her up.

At first the little girl had thrown her arms around his neck and buried her face in the space between his throat and his shoulder. Then, as he chatted with her as much as he normally chatted with himself in the morning, she had gradually lifted her chin and eventually, she had brightened much as the day had. When she looked up towards the sails, her brother, who had been spending the morning eating his breakfast and the rest of Jack's, had mentioned how Elizabeth tossed her to the air for a game of sorts. And then he had started playing it with her.

Now all three of them were laughing—little Lucy giggling, the boy pealing, Jack chuckling—happily.

"Captain Sparrow," Anamaria addressed him, leaning on the wheel that Cotton was manning. "Crew's watchin."

"Is that so?" With a glance at the woman, he grinned and tossed the little girl higher into the air. "Up ye go, love!"

"So's Turner."

Squealing little girl landing heavily in his arms, he reeled, eyes wide and staggering backwards. Jack whirled in a circle, catching sight of only the back of a retreating Will Turner. Little Lucy mistook his misstep for a new game and clapped her hands excitedly. A look down into her bright, happy eyes eased a smile back onto his face. The picture of delight she was. Chubby cheeks rosy and hands clasped together, the little girl grinned up at him. For a moment he was taken back in time to a hazy place—Elizabeth the one grinning, he turning her in circles around a fire, and both of them laughing like the devil—but then it was gone.

"Anamaria."

"Jack?"

"Captain," he corrected her, fixing her with a stern look as he and the child whirled close, "Captain Jack. Make sure breakfast is sent to Mrs. Turner. Well-balanced. Eggs, biscuits. Cheese. Fruit. Molasses. Honey. Tea." He smiled. "And have Cook arrange some of those flowers no one's supposed to know about."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Staring at Elizabeth, Will discovered that not even she was exempt from his contempt. The way that her mouth moved as she dreamt usually made him happy. The way that she smiled as she dreamt usually made him smile. The way that she snuggled close to him as she dreamt usually made him snuggle closer to her. But, as much as he told himself otherwise, finding the Jack Sparrow in his daughter as much as he'd found it in his son had stirred feelings that he did not know existed—feelings that shook him to his very core. Unsettled as he was, he found himself suddenly angry with her.

He wondered if she, like their children, would be happier with the pirate. He wondered if she, like their children, had more fun with Jack. He wondered if she, like their children, had grown to love the man.

A knock on the door jostled his thoughts.

Will was surprised to find Cook on the other side. He frowned down at the tray laden with what he was certain was finery aboard a pirate ship. The smell alone was enough to rumble his stomach, but his eyes narrowed on the flowers.

"For the Missus," Cook said. "From the Captain." Then he was gone.

Will glared down at the tray in his hands, unable to move from the doorway. Behind him, he heard sheets rustle as Elizabeth stretched beneath them. He closed his eyes in an effort to calm his self.

"Will?" She yawned. "What is that delightful smell?" When he turned, her eyes bulged. She jumped up out of bed and rushed forward, grabbing a grape and popping it into her mouth. Then, eyeing the flowers, she smiled. "They're lovely." Leaning forward, she brushed a kiss on his lips. "Thank you."

"Perhaps you should have saved that kiss for Jack," Will said. He pushed past her and set the tray on the cot. "That is who your thanks belongs to."

"Jack? Why would he…?"

"Perhaps he wishes to woo you." Will smiled. "Perhaps he wants a kiss, Elizabeth. Perhaps the fact that my children adore him is not enough. Perhaps he has decided that you, too, must adore him!"

Elizabeth grabbed his hand before he could flee the room. Her honey brown eyes sought his and finding the anger in them, she shook her head. "What's gotten into you?"

"Sense!" And with that, he yanked his hand back and hurried from the room.

Elizabeth thought about his abrupt departure as shepolished off the last of the eggs and stared down at the empty tray. Since the upheaval she had not thought at all of food but once she had smelled it, she had instantly felt her stomach begging for it. It had been sweet of Jack to send such a fine spread, she thought. It had been too sweet, she decided, her gaze falling upon the beautiful flowers. Still, she knew that her husband was far off the mark if he thought Jack Sparrow was attempting to win her heart.

In all of the years that she had known the pirate, he had always had a soft spot for women. To his crew, the many ladies that had graced the Pearl in earlier years had been little more than a wink, a nudge, and a whistle. To Elizabeth—who had spent the better part of a bad spot with the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow and who had come to the startling conclusion that the scoundrel, for as much as he was slapped, had no trouble seeing women as equally formidable as himself—they had been a knowing smile or taunt to draw the captain out of carefree character long enough to share a real moment with him. The reality was that Captain Jack Sparrow, infamous pirate captain who left a long list of women lusting after him, only did so because he was forever fascinated, intrigued, and interested in what he called the feminine mystique.

Even though the man rarely met a woman he didn't want to know better, Elizabeth knew better than to think the pirate was sweet on and attempting to charm William Turner's wife. Captain Jack Sparrow was no saint by any stretch of the imagination, but he would never do such a thing to his closest friend. He wouldn't seriously pursue such nonsense, she knew. However, she also knew as well as Jack knew that it was an easy needle to twist in Will's heart while they were at odds.

_I know what you're up to Jack Sparrow,_ she thought, eyes narrowing on the flowers.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack was adjusting a sail that didn't want to cooperate when the crew hushed below. He cast a wary glance down between his feet braced on the yard. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, save for the quiet crew and a scantily clad strumpet strutting across the deck, he went back to fighting with the topsail. In mid yank, he froze. Slowly, cautiously, he let his gaze fall below once again.

Elizabeth Turner, wearing little more than her underthings, stood smiling up at him.

Stupefied, he stared down at her with an open mouth.

"Morning Jack," she said in her sweetest voice, tilting her head and tossing her long hair over a shoulder. She pursed her lips and winked up at him. "Beautiful day isn't it?"

Recovering from his surprise, Jack frowned and studied the woman acting so unlike herself. From his experience it was never a good thing when Elizabeth packed on the charm. Both of them knew how to play that game particularly well. "Aye, that it is." Remembering the flowers, he paused. "Most lovely, Mrs. Turner." Smirking, he turned back to the sail in front of him. "Got the flowers, did you?"

"Get down here, Jack Sparrow!"

"That's Captain Jack Sparrow to you. And as you can see," he called down, finally manipulating the sail to his liking and tying a knot around the clew line tight, "I've my hands full. And, as you've your hands free, I would prefer staying exactly where I am."

"Well then I suppose it is a good thing that I can climb as well as you can."

Before he could tell her she had better not do any such thing, Elizabeth Turner was climbing up the mast. She pulled herself onto the yard he stood on and sprang up. Facing him with a fierce glare, she grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him close. With no other option available, he glared back at her.

"Jack Sparrow, " she spat between her teeth, "that was a dirty ploy you tried to pull."

"And if you pull that hair any harder, missy, I'll not hesitate—" he broke off, wincing as she gave a vicious tug. Then he growled and grabbed her hand and twisted, ignoring the pain twisting her lip. "This is my ship, Elizabeth. My ship! I am the captain of this ship. I answer to no one here. If you were anyone else I'd have simply pushed you from this perch to the unreceptive deck below. But you are who you are and I am who I am and I'm not about to treat you as harshly as you and your husband, the people I hold dear to me heart, have treated the likes of myself so recently."

She grabbed her hand away and glared at him. When she turned away to look out at the sea her expression softened, and when she turned back to him tears wet her eyes. "And I would have apologized—"

"Apologized?" He scoffed and leaned closer to her contrite gaze. "That would be the day. Missus Elizabeth Turner, daughter of the Governor of Port Royal and wife to the most stubborn, thick-headed, self-righteous bloody stupidest—"

"That's not—"

"—blacksmith and dullest son of a pirate I have ever had the displeasure of concerning myself with, apologizing to the likes of a _Pirate_? Pardon me, darling, when I say I doubt it. Besides, as is well known, the apologies that should not need uttered in the first place are usually the ones we don't ever accept."

And with that, he left Elizabeth standing in the rigging. When his feet hit the deck he whirled around and glared at the staring, unmoving crew. "_Sail's fixed! All of you best get back to doing what it is you're supposed to be doing! Less of course you want to test my patience but I don't recommend it! Mister Cotton!_" He paused by the helm and nodded at the mute man behind it. "Take us where it is we're going."

Gibbs and Anamaria stared after him as he stalked to his cabin. Then Gibbs glanced toward the mast where Elizabeth was finally making her way to the deck. "What do you make of it, Marie?"

She scowled. "I'll tell ya after I find out." Glaring at the sailor and then at Elizabeth and then at Will Turner who was storming toward the Captain's cabin, she stormed toward it herself. Gibbs watched, wide-eyed, as the woman wrestled Turner away and slipped through the door, slamming it behind her.

"Is it always this chaotic," Elizabeth asked him, "or is it only when we're aboard?"

Gibbs was going to answer her, but the glare of the approaching blacksmith sent him scurrying away from the woman. "When I said women were bad luck," he muttered, "I meant it!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Jack!" Anamaria stalked after the captain through his cabin and toward the spiraling steps that led down into his private quarters. "What's goin on? Your crew's afraid to talk to you!"

"Good!"

She scowled and hauled him around by his shirt to face her. "Ya listen to me, ya pirate! I ain't got no time for this! I got me own ship I could be on right now, ordering around and intimidatin me own crew." Her dark eyes searched his weary gaze. "People fight, ya know. Specially when they care for each other."

He sighed.

"So Turner's insulted ya. So? Who hasn't? Now ya know ya brought the boy aboard for a reason and that reason much as ya wish isn't to go get some damned foolish sword!" She shook her head. "Ya wanted to spend the bloody fool's birthday with him 'cause you be carin for him and that family of his. I told ya the plan was a bad one but ya didn't listen and now there's a mess ya made and it's as much your fault as his! Now stop bein such a bloody baby and ya go apologize and make nice with them Turners or I'll be forced to take over this ship till ya do."

He opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't ya tell me I won't, 'cause I will!" She shoved him the other way. "Now get on with it!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Elizabeth had only just spotted Will before he stormed up to her. The rough hand that caught her arm caught her by surprise and she shrieked when he drug her toward the stairs. Having never been handled by Will in such a manner, terror rose in her chest and she gasped for breath, tears burning her eyes. "Will!" She was shouting, choking on her husband's name as he hauled her down the steps. At the second landing, she pushed him hard into the railing and away from her. "Stop it!"

"If you're going to dress like a wench, I'm going to treat you like one!" His brown eyes were hot with tears and he glared at her. "I want to know something, Elizabeth."

"Perhaps you would get an answer if you asked nicely!" Furious, she stalked toward the door to their cabin. She gasped when his fingers clenched around her wrist and dragged her back, pressing her to the wall. "Let go of me," she grit out at him. "You are hurting me, Will."

He softened and reached up to brush the tear from her cheek. "Elizabeth…"

She pushed his hand away and shook her head. "What is wrong with you? It had better be something that's some sort of explanation for your behavior lately, or I'm afraid that we won't be talking much for the duration of this. This… whatever this excursion is!"

Will dropped his gaze and ducked his head.

Seeing her husband so vulnerable, so hurt and weary, pricked her heart. But the memory of her own pain that she'd suffered only seconds ago was still seared there. "Will!"

"Why do our children resemble Jack more than they resemble me?"

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Why do they seem more like him everyday, Elizabeth?"

"Will…" She shook her head. "Have you gone mad?"

"Is it because I have been blinded by my love for you that I haven't noticed before?" Will's eyes burned into hers. "Are you sure, Elizabeth, that our children do not have another father?"

She slapped him. There was simply no other way for her to respond to such a horrible accusation from a husband that was supposed to trust her. There was simply no other way for her to respond to the man she loved accusing her of such a horrible thing. There was simply no way that she could continue to look at him, and so she pushed him away and rushed to their cabin, slamming the door behind her to shut him out.

Will stared dully after Elizabeth. It wasn't that he did not want to go after her and plead for her forgiveness. That urge he'd found particularly strong. It was that he knew that after all he'd said and done his apologies and tears would fall on deaf ears. Heaving a great sigh, he turned to head back up the stairs. It was then that he came face to face with the man he wanted to speak to.

Jack Sparrow stood in his way.

The pirate's face was unreadable, but his eyes gave him away. Dark, they were, and brimming with danger—anger, disgust, and a deep pool of hurt. Jack had no doubt witnessed the entire exchange from the regrettably violent scuffle to the regrettably vile words.

Will sucked in a breath, readying himself for another blow.

But it didn't come. Jack Sparrow didn't hit him. He didn't move. He stood there, unblinking, staring hard at the man in front of him. His jaw twitched, but he didn't open his mouth. Silently, he stared hard into Will's eyes.

Frightened, Will took a step back.

Jack followed, planting one boot ahead of the other.

Will stumbled over his own feet and fell hard onto his backside. He gasped. Fear gripped his heart when he looked up to see Jack standing over him looking down at him with the same silent searing stare. After what seemed like an eternity, the pirate leant down to him.

Jack stared at him.

Will bit down hard on his lip to keep from letting loosehis growing anxiety.

"That," Jack growled, hauling him up by his shirt, "was the stupidest thing you have ever done accompanied by the stupidest thing you have ever said. I'll give you a moment." He let go of his shirt and gave him a shove. "Go hide."

Will turned to do just that, but then he stopped. When he turned back, he shook his head. "No."

Jack sighed and looked to the ceiling.

"I won't hide from you, Jack. I deserve—" He was cut off by a fist to his jaw that sent him in a circle and to his knees. Pain seared his face and tears stung his eyes. He spat the blood out of his mouth and nodded. "That."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Anamaria jumped when Jack stormed into the room. The pirate's dark eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them. Fighting the immediate gasp that threatened to escape, she swallowed. She followed his gaze to the boy sleeping on the curvy davenport and then frowned up at him. "Jack—"

He tsked and went toward the stairs.

She followed him down them and watched as he flung himself face down onto the bed.

"What happened?"

He sighed.

"Jack?" She sat down next to him and patted his back. "What happened, ya old salt?"

"I punched him."

"What?" The answer had been muffled in the pillows but she had heard it. She smacked the back of his head. "Jack Sparrow! That's no way to be makin nice and ya know—"

"_Enough_!"

Anamaria glared at his back. "Fine. I hope the both of ya are happy!" She jumped up and strode to the stairs. "I'm taking us to my ship! When we get to there ya can ask the other one to come aboard and deal with this mess 'cause I ain't gonna do it!" Not wanting to hear his argument, she didn't wait for it.

In the light, she stomped her foot on deck. "_Alright ya searats!_ _Captain's not himself so you'll have to deal with me! I want this ship turned back and on its way to Tortuga and I wanna get there fast as she can take us!_"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Uncle Jack why's Anamaria the captain?"

Jack sighed and stared into his pillow. He'd been staring into his pillow since the woman left. He'd stared into his pillow when he felt his ship change tack and he'd stared into his pillow when he heard the lad's little feet on the stairs. He turned his head and closed his eyes. "She's not. Just acting like it for awhile."

"And you let her?"

"Aye."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Jack sighed. "Listen, lad. I think you should go find your father."

"I did find him." The boy's voice shook. "He told me to go away."

"That so, Jack Turner?" Jack looked at the boy over his shoulder. "And you thought now was a good time to start listening to him?" He turned back into his pillow. "Go find your father. Uncle Jack has a headache."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The adults were all mad, Jack Turner decided. Uncle Jack didn't fool him. He knew that the pirate had another reason for wanting him to go away. Mister Gibbs and Anamaria didn't fool him. He knew that they knew more than they answered him with because they had stopped talking when he had walked up to them. His mother didn't fool him. He knew she was not okay like she said that she was because her face was red and puffy from having cried too many tears. His father didn't fool him—the second time. He knew by the waver in his voice when he told him to go away that he hadn't meant it. So he hadn't listened.

Jack stayed. He sat down on the cot next to his father. After a few moments of silence the man grabbed him and threw his arms around him. For some reason, Jack didn't complain like he always did. He let his father hug him close. The tears that seeped through his shirt to warm his shoulder surprised him and he tried to think of something to say like his mother said whenever he or his sister cried. "Da…" He frowned and patted his father's back. "It's gonna be okay, Da."

The older Turner shook his head and hugged the boy tighter.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

When Jack rolled onto his side, he came face to face with a small, wide-eyed little girl. Through all of his muttering he'd not heard little Lucy on the steps. He sighed and studied the girl. Something, there had to be something to make sense of Will Turner's claims. He studied her face. Just as he'd thought earlier, the girl was a miniature Elizabeth. Sunstreaked hair, bow-shaped mouth, long suntipped lashes, deep dark eyes… Jack found them, the exotic black eyes so much like his own. And then he sighed.

Little Lucy cocked her head at him, puzzled.

"Ah, little love," he sighed, reaching out and drawing her close to the side of the bed. He smiled at the girl and brushed a curl back from her soft face. "Your father forgot those eyes didn't he?"

The little girl shook her head.

"Yes," he agreed, knowing the girl had no idea what he was talking about. He smiled at her. "Where's your mother?"

"Mama…" she shook her head.

"Your father?"

"Da." Little Lucy's eyes welled up with tears. "No."

"Your brother?"

"Da." She nodded. "Cry."

Jack nodded. "Sad, aye?"

Little Lucy nodded fast.

"Your mother too?"

"Mama's sad." Her lip wavered. "The sea?"

"No," he shook his head. "No, no little love. The sea can't hurt anyone on the _Black Pearl_."

"Promise?"

"Aye, promise." He smiled. "Yes you remember, don't you, little love? I promise."

"Untle Jat promise."

"Well," he arched a brow at the pronunciation of his name, "something like that."

"Yes okay." Little Lucy folded her little hands and laid them on the bed. "Sleep?"

Jack glanced up at the porthole and was surprised to find the glow of the moon against the darkness. More time had passed than he'd thought since he'd thrown himself down onto the bed. He'd been muttering to himself for longer than he'd imagined, and hadn't realized how tired he was all the while. "Aye," he agreed, sitting up. He yawned and stretched and was surprised when he saw the little girl still standing there. "Well off to your cabin then."

"Sleep?" Her lip quivered. "Here please?"

"Ah so that's what you're after is it, little love? A safe place to sleep?" Sighing, he forced himself up and dragged himself to the chest of drawers he kept, yanking one out and sorting through it for a shirt that wasn't shredded. Finally finding one, he took it to her and laid it on the bed. "There you are. That lace is no good for sleep is it?" He went back across the room to fix everything he'd messed and when he turned back he was surprised to find the girl eyeing the garment suspiciously. "Well I know it's not the best of togs, love, but it's not _too_ shabby."

Little Lucy looked puzzled.

"Go on. Out of your dress and into the shirt, love."

"Dress." The girl pointed at the dress she wore and shook her head. "Help?"

"What are you going to do with Uncle Jack, little Lucy?" Jack sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for her to turn around. When she did, he loosed the bow at the back and worked the little buttons open. "He doesn't know the first thing about little girls. Fortunately he knows enough about dresses." He frowned. "That's not a good story for your lil ears, is it? Alright, arms up, love."

The girl waited while he pulled the dress over her head.

"Oh good. None of those stifling stockings your father's so fond of," he noted. The shirt he dropped easily over her head. "Arm in that hole. And that one. Good, now turn around." He rolled the sleeves up.

She stared at them as they fell back down.

He sighed and rolled them back up.

They both watched as they fell down again.

Jack nodded. "I've just the thing for that. Hold still." Taking the dagger from his boot, he pulled the sleeve to its length and drew the blade up it. He did the same to the other side. The dagger he tucked away. Then he ripped both sleeves up to her elbows and tore off the strips of fabric. One of them he tied—tight enough to keep the shirt from slipping down her tiny shoulders and loose enough so that it wasn't restrictive—around each arm and tossed the extra onto the floor. He admired his handiwork. "That's better."

"Better, yes." Little Lucy smiled up at him. "Sleep?"

"Aye, sleep." He helped her up. After tucking the soft covers around her he walked around to the other side of the bed. The hat, boots, and belts clunked to the floor. He blew the candle out. With a sigh, he plucked a blanket from a nearby chair and crawled into the bed himself, yanking a pillow under his head and the blanket over his shoulders and closing his eyes.

"Untle Jat."

"Little Lucy."

"Fraid..."

"Nothing to be scared of," he said, allowing the girl to snuggle against him. He sighed and wrapped a protective arm around her. "Uncle Jack's here, little love." The tugging on his hair forced his eyes open and he frowned down at the tiny fingers toying with the silver trinket. That thing had always been her favorite. He'd guessed it was because it made the most noise out of any of the things he'd tied into his hair.

Little Lucy wagged the thing and smiled at the tiny tinkling of silver jostling silver. She gave a little girl's tiny sigh of delight and buried her face in his neck. "Love you Untle Jat."

Captain Jack Sparrow felt the wind knocked out of his lungs and before he knew what was happening, the hot tears stung his eyes. He blinked them away. Sucking the lump down in his throat, he turned his head and kissed the little girl's head. "Yes, little Lucy Turner," he agreed, "Uncle Jack loves you too."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"My own son has more optimism than I." Will sighed and let go of the boy, quite shamed that he'd made such a mess of himself in front of his child. "Even now, you think things will turn right in the end."

"It will, Da." Jack nodded. "I know it will."

"How do you know that when you don't know why your father's gone to pieces?"

"Because my father is William Turner," Jack explained. "It's like Uncle Jack said. 'I trust that William Turner. He's got a lil bit of Ol Jack in him, Gibbs, a lil bit. Goes and does something stupid. Knows it. Hates himself for it. But he'll always fix it in the end. That's why I trust in that lad, that William Turner.'"

"Jack said that?"

Jack winced, realizing he'd repeated a conversation that had not been meant for his ears. He forced a smile on his face when his father pulled back to frown at him. "Aye, Da. He did."

Will's eyes narrowed at him. "You were eavesdropping, weren't you?"

"Only a little, Da." Jack grinned. "But he was right. You'll fix whatever's wrong. I trust you, too."


	8. To Tortuga

Even in the wee hours of the morning a place like Tortuga was still alive with light, laughter, and the equally uplifting sounds of shouting and gunfire. From the still waters of the harbor the settlement at the foot of the hill glowed with the mirth of the place, yellow lights against the dark blue of the rising rock behind it. The night crew of the _Black Pearl_ stood assembled on her deck, gazing at the place with fire in their hearts and light in their eyes. Gibbs, who'd only just woke from his slumber, slugged a drink from his flask and placed the container over his heart in a silent salute to the place of buccaneer dreams. The sailor turned to Anamaria with a grin and waggled his bushy brows.

The dark beauty of a pirate rolled her eyes and slapped a line into his hand. "Get it out your head, Joshamee. We ain't here for no jig steppin or rum drinkin."

As much as Anamaria loved the crew of the _Black Pearl_, as well as the ship's slightly senseless captain, she was neither prepared nor willing to put up with the problems recently presented to them. She had agreed to sail along when Jack had told her that he had planned a celebration for Turner's birthday. The Turners weren't her favorite people in the world, but they weren't her least favorite by any stretch of the imagination. Their children were a breath of fresh air, no matter how much the boy got under her feet. Turner wasn't that bad either when he let his hair down. Even the woman, Elizabeth, who she had thought to be a spoiled thing at one time, was a welcome sight at sea. But Jack and Turner always managed, somehow, to be at odds and this was no exception. She had not agreed to sort the fool's sordid situations. She had not left her own ship to watch over the pirate's blunders, even if she did miss the _Pearl_ and her crew and her captain and her friends from Port Royal.

Turning from course and sailing to Tortuga had not been something she wanted to do, but something she had to do. Not only was her ship moored there for the entirety of her romp at sea with the _Pearl_, but it was moored in the private harbor of one of the only other people Anamaria trusted to talk sense into the senseless Sparrow. Or slap it into him, if necessary.

Anamaria glared at the other ships anchored in the water. Two bobbed closely, dark and silent under the light of the moon. The third, far across the water, was lit up. Torches flamed and lit the darkness, illuminating her decks. There were but a few sailors aboard. Even across the distance, Anamaria saw them spot the _Black Pearl_, pointing and running to each other, and she grit her teeth. Captain Jack Sparrow, for whatever reason, was always the talk of the town. It wasn't easy slipping the _Black Pearl_ by Tortuga without some sort of fanfare but she intended to do it.

"Ya know where we're goin," Anamaria told the crew. "Easy sailin through that pass."

Luckily the _Pearl_ was as fast as she was. The ship had no sooner followed and crossed the curve of the bay than it disappeared into the rocks. Between the crags the ship slipped silently into the hidden channel. Tortuga vanished and Anamaria let out a sigh of relief.

"See," she smirked at Gibbs, "ain't no show when he ain't puttin one on himself."

As soon as the words left her mouth an explosion rattled the very rocks around them and the sky beyond the rocks lit up with a burst of red sparks. Popping orange blossoms followed and yellow surges of light boomed above. The men on deck looked up, up past the jutting rocks on either side of them to the display. Their tired faces perked and glowed with the colors bursting in the sky. Two men stood taller and nodded to each other, and a third let loose an appreciative whistle.

Gibbs gave a grunt of approval and smiled at the fireworks.

She scowled.

"Aye Marie," he nodded. "No show at all."

"_Alright already!_" Anamaria smacked the closest gawking pirate in the back of the head. "Get on with it, ya scurves. I ain't Jack Sparrow and I ain't got no time for this dill-dallyin around. We've a ship to put into harbor and anchor there!"

Behind Gibbs a great mouth of stone loomed agape. The bow of the _Black Pearl_ pierced through its breath of fine mist, tendrils licking her lithe form as she sailed through to the other side. Two shimmering falls of water flanked her, thundering into the tranquil black water to froth it silver and drench the deep, dark lagoon in a curling fog. The breeze was cool and wet. It swept over the Sparrow's swan to flutter her great black wings. All around them the deep green of the midnight palms rustled and somewhere deep in the foliage the soft chirp of winged insects kept a gentle melody in tune with the fronds' wavering whispers.

Anamaria paused to gaze at the glow of the tiny flickering orbs swirling in the air, fireflies like sparks of gold against the darkness. She sighed, softly, her awe of the things having never left her. The light they shown in her dark eyes had never gone out, not ever, and she knew that it never would. She followed a flashing fly across the water and over the sleek glossy ship resting there. Pride swelled her chest.

"There she is," she whispered, the very sight of the thing knocking the wind out of her. "My _Celamar_."

Gibbs allowed her the moment, a smile flitting across his face as he raised his flask in a silent toast to her ship. Captain Anamaria Soledad sighed once more and then she nodded curtly at the sailor to send him running off to the rest of the crew in order to ready the ship they were on for her mooring. When she turned back to her ship, she couldn't help but smile fondly on the little beauty dark against the gleaming white of the massive thing beside it.

If _Celamar_ was glossy, the ship beside it was glittering. Under the moonlight and against the dark of the night, the brilliant thing was a sight to behold. The deep blue of her long, sweeping side was cast in the silver light of the moon, her white shining brightly and gold embellishments glinting much as the fireflies. Even Anamaria had to admit that the _Odessa_ was nothing short of majestic.

"And," she added, Jack's voice in her head, "perhaps a touch superfluous."

Of course neither _Celamar_ nor _Odessa_ could rival the beauty of the ship that the pirates were stilling between them. The _Black Pearl_ was a rare gem indeed. Anamaria loved her nearly as much as her own.

But not enough.

"Nice work." Captain Soledad patted the young, nervous helmsman on the back and smiled at him. "Jack ever lets ya go, you're sure to have a place on my ship!"

He blushed. "I'd be honored, Cap'n."

"Go get ya some sleep," she said, glancing over her shoulder toward the other crew still furling sails and tying lines. "We're in a safe spot here and ya been too good all night." She acknowledged his nod and watched as he relinquished his post and tread warily toward the stairs. "Ey!" She winked at him when he turned around. "Take me quarters, Roth. Captain's orders!"

Roth's face flushed. "Aye Cap'n!"

She nodded at his salute and watched the lean line of the lad until he disappeared from sight.

"Robbin the cradle, eh Marie?"

Anamaria glared at the grinning Gibbs and pointed toward the shoreline. "You're goin with me."

Gibbs paled.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_Celamar is loose Spanish for "watches over the sea", but I confess I was thinking of the phrase "cellar door" as referenced in the movie Donnie Darko(I highly recommend that film) when writing this and thought the lovely Anamaria's ship needed a name that was both applicable and beautiful as she… Odessa's named after a port on the Black Sea Coast of Ukraine, at one time heavily populated by pirates._


	9. A Breath of Fresh Air

Elizabeth woke to find the pillow sticking to her cheek. The cruel realization that she had sobbed until she'd cried herself to sleep struck her heart. The cruel realization that Will was not warming her side chilled her to the core. His words came back to her, screaming accusations in her head and she shut her eyes. The cruel realization that her husband placed no trust in her was too much to bear.

Lying there on her side in a dark cabin on a bobbing pirate ship without her husband or her children choked her. Elizabeth sputtered, her throat tight. Air refused to find and fill her lungs. She couldn't breathe. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't breathe. Gasping hard, she bolted upright.

Wrapping her robe around her body, Elizabeth stumbled in the dark, fumbling to find the door. Its handle met her fingertips at long last and she wrenched it open and tore up the steps as fast as her feet could carry her. She tripped on the ledge of the last one. It sent her fast forward onto her hands and knees. Not being able to see for the tears, she lay there until the pain in her knees faded enough to stand. When she did, the din in her ears was deafening. She clapped her hands over them. Eyes squeezed shut, the screaming and the sobbing and the clang of steel roared in her head.

Steady hands caught her arms and shook her.

She shook her head.

They shook her harder.

When she opened her eyes, they were too blurry to see through. She blinked. The noise still pounding in her head, she felt like screaming. Had she been able to breathe, she would have screamed as loud as she possibly could.

Hands yanked hers from her ears. "Miss Elizabeth!"

She shook her head and gasped, recognizing the boy's voice. Isaac, she knew, would help her. But where had he come from? He hadn't been aboard the _Pearl_, had he? Wouldn't he have already tried to calm the storm if he had been? The questions reeled in her head. She shivered, reaching for her throat. She clawed desperately at it, trying to loosen something that would allow her the air she could not get. Dizziness was setting in and she wondered if she was to suffocate scared and alone without the family she so loved by her side.

"_Help, now!_" Isaac's voice boomed. "_Miss Elizabeth can't breathe!_"

Just then, the world went black. When light began to filter in again, several mangy pirates, eyes wide and mouths twisted with worry, were staring down at her. Elizabeth blinked.

"Feeling better, love?" Isaac popped into view.

She gasped. All of the pirates reached for her. She shook her head to let them know that she was fine. Well—as fine as one could be when their heart ached so much it felt as if it would tear itself apart. Elizabeth ignored the tears that threatened to come and focused instead on the boy above her. She forced a smile on her face.

"We thought you sailed right off up to heaven," he admitted. His blue eyes saddened. "Would've been a real shame too to lose such a lovely lass to the choirs of charming cherubim."

"How awful!" Elizabeth's eyes twinkled at him up at him. "Flirting with a married woman by cracking a joke about the possibility of her death—is that what London's taught you, Isaac Faust?"

He grinned. "That and a little bit more!"

As the lad helped her up, she couldn't help but notice, despite his youth, the steady strength in his hands. She had always noticed such things being in love with a blacksmith. Every man, she'd found, used his hands in a manner that was unique to only him. Her father's hands were careful and deliberate. James Norrington's hands were precise in all of his work. Jack Sparrow's hands were everywhere. Will's hands, though rough and strong from the grueling hours spent laboring with metal in the smithy, were gentle. And Isaac's hands were the hands of a patient, steadfast young man.

She marveled at that fact, remembering a time when his hands had been smaller, and a great deal weaker, than her own. The little scamp that had long ago sailed into their lives had grown into a young man. Lean like Jack he was, and with the same lively face and dark flowing locks. If she didn't know better she would have thought that the two were of the same bloodline. "You look brilliant!"

"Why thank you, m'lady." Isaac tipped his hat to her. "You're looking quite fetching yourself Elizabeth. What's that look you've on? Fainting sick woman?"

"Something like that, I believe."

"Well at any rate, these fine gentlemen saved your life," he told her, waving at the other pirates. "Or they were willing to. You, however, started breathing soon as you passed out."

"Thank you," she nodded, reaching out to squeeze the filthy hands of all of the men. "You're all good men. All of you, even you, Cotton."

The mute sailor smiled.

"You hear that?" Isaac let out a wolf whistle. "Cotton I think she's sweet on you, man. I might have to be jealous I might!" He laughed as Cotton winked at Elizabeth. His grin grew when the man patted him on the head. He threw an arm around Elizabeth. "Bloody hell Elizabeth! It's good to be home!"

Elizabeth forced another smile, not wanting to ruin his moment. With the way things were on the _Black Pearl_, it wouldn't be long before someone else did.

"Walk with me?"

Strolling along the deck of the _Pearl_ beside Isaac, Elizabeth pulled the robe tighter around her and let the cool breeze fill her lungs. She was grateful for it. The strange attack earlier worried her, but the beautiful night and lush tropics around them soothed at least a bit of her anxiety. She had allowed the young man to take her arm and chat her up, hoping that his bright voice and demeanor would improve her mood. It had somewhat, especially his stories about London which brought back some of her fonder memories of old. In the days of her youth she and her grandparents had visited the great place a great many times and so she held the city dear to her heart. Isaac's enthusiasm brought the memories back to her, and she was delighted to listen-and to think of another place and time when the problems that she faced were but nothing.

"It was. different," Isaac finished.

They came to a stop and turned to look out over the still waters of the lagoon. The waterfalls, pouring their steady stream of silver into the black waters, filled their gaze. Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, different." She smiled wistfully, thinking of her grandmother delighting in spoiling her in secret with armfuls of boys' clothes, romps through the drunker parts of town, and songs about sailors, pirates, and various other disreputable people. "Why did you leave?"

Isaac turned, blue eyes baffled.

"You seem to have enjoyed London," she explained. "So why did you leave?"

"Aye. It was a good time." He shrugged and looked out over the water again, his gaze sweeping over the perimeter of the midnight green surrounding them. A swirling swarm of fireflies flashed as he turned back to her. "I'll always remember it. But it wasn't my home."

Elizabeth glanced up at him, catching the light of understanding in his eyes. She sighed.

"What's so horrible now that you're dwelling on the fondness of the past?"

"You've always been quick to notice things. And I thank you for your concern," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it in hers. "But I don't wish to spoil your homecoming with my own woes."

"Nothing could spoil it! Nothing!" Isaac plucked her hand off of his with the other and brushed a soft kiss over her fingers. "But if a lady does not wish to speak of her issues, a gentleman _pirate_ such as myself shall not press."

"I am most gracious, _Sir Pirate_," she laughed, accepting her hand back. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to walk a lady back to her cabin so that she might sleep again before the light prevents her from doing so?"

"But of course, m'lady!" Isaac winked at her and offered his arm. "Anything for a most lovely lass like yourself, Elizabeth." He paused and looked down at her. "Same cabin I presume?"

"Indeed." Elizabeth allowed him to lead her toward it. When they reached the stairs, she let him usher her in front of him. "How did you know leaving London that the _Pearl_ would be here tonight?"

"I didn't!"

At the cabin door, she stopped and turned around to look up at him. "Then."

"We're in Tortuga! I knew someone could tell me where Jack was. Or Alice. Or both." He grinned. "God willing. As luck would have it, I was just about to talk a lass into a room at Jolly's Folly when a rather excited looking fellow came in bawling with his stinking breath about having just spotted the _Black Pearl_ in the bay. 'Course it's always best to take such talk with a grain of salt and all being that rumors and gossip abound 'bout Jack and this ship, but. the smelly fellow mentioned it disappearing right into the rocks so I knew his story was true."

Elizabeth arched a brow.

Isaac grinned. "Hidden passageway. Most useful trick and all the rage in modern piracy! All of the most famous and sought after scallywags are using them."


	10. Smothering Nightmares

_Barbossa?_

_"Well Jack, it looks like it's just you and me."_

_Barbossa. _

_Jack cringed. Nightmare or not, the prospect of having to spend one waking minute with the scoundrel who had personally saw him to what they'd thought would be his demise was not a promising one. Especially not when they were both marooned on that godforsaken spit of land-both without a pistol._

_"How about a story, Jack?"_

_"Splendid idea, Hector! I've just the tale. It's about apples and the men who can't eat th-"_

_Barbossa had a pistol afterall._

_"Not exactly a rave review." Jack stared down the barrel of the thing, cocking a brow. "I suppose that's nefarious villain for 'two thumbs down'?"_

_"Shut up. It's me who'll be tellin the tales and you who'll be listenin. This one starts on the second best night-"_

_"Wait, hold it. Just wait a moment, mate." Jack shook his head. "Second best? What of the first best?"_

_"Jack, you surprise me. You've always known the first best night of me career was the night I was named Captain of your ship." Barbossa's yellow eyes narrowed on the pistol and then on him. "Don't interrupt."_

_Jack pressed his lips together._

_"As I were saying, Jack Sparrow, this story starts on the second best night of me infamous career. Twas a fine night on the sea the night we dumped Bill Turner-"_

_The man may have said he couldn't interrupt, but he hadn't said that Jack had to stay to listen to the story. So Jack didn't. He jumped up and stalked across the sand away from the story he'd rather not hear._

_A low, vicious chuckle came from Barbossa's throat after him. _

_Jack walked right into the man. He fell back, eyes wide. Then he turned on his heel._

_"You can run, Jack, but you can't hide." Barbossa followed him. "You know the stories. You know what you heard. You know it's the truth, Jack Sparrow, that your friend's guilt was what ended him up at the bottom of the sea. Your friend Bill Turner, it's your fault he's dead and your fault the lad's without his father."_

_Jack grit his teeth._

_"What's troubling you, Jack Sparrow?" Barbossa sneered. "Is it not enough y've taken Will's father? Would you have his family as well? Yer sad bit of family that ain't even yer own blood's off in London havin the time of his life without ye so y'need to fill his void." _

_Jack bit back the spit behind his teeth._

_"As for the lady-if ye can call her that, niece of the famous Onry Witter to boot, I have to hand it to ye, Jack Sparrow, ye keep mighty fine company-" the man's yellow teeth were nearly as vicious as his chuckle, "well, she's not yer own either, and ne'er will she be. What of the lady Elizabeth, Jack? As I've heard it was you and she on this island once and it was ye who put his arm around her and tried to sway her delicate emotions in yer favor."_

_"The rum, the rum," Jack spun, fists clenched. "It was the rum talking!"_

_"Ahh but it wasn't the rum, it was yer own mouth spittin the vile filth from yer rotten heart."_

_"Both of us were left to die. Will was set to die. By your hand no less. And you had the Pearl."_

_"Will Turner wasn't one foot in his grave when you drew the lass near."_

_"But Jack had no way of knowing that," interjected a new voice. William Turner stood on the sand some distance away, arms crossed over his chest. He'd aged a bit, and looked worn, but he seemed as strong and stubborn as he always was. "All he knew was that the girl was lovely and that the rum made her seem even lovelier." _

_"How would you know?" Barbossa glared at him. "You're dead."_

_"That's how." William smirked. "You'd be surprised, Barbossa, what it is you know when you're dead and not limited to a hell whose only escape is the torture of the weakened souls of your living enemies."_

_"Weakened?!" Jack gaped at William but promptly pressed his lips together when the man glared at him._

_"That may be so, Bill Turner." Barbossa shrugged. "But I'd hardly call this torture and I'd hardly call it hell when it puts such a thrill in me spirit to see Jack Sparrow broken. It ain't no fault of mine he's ruined your boy's life. It ain't no fault of mine he's tried to take the lad's family. It ain't no fault of mine he hates himself for it."_

_"That's not true." William turned to Jack. "You know that's not true, Jack."_

_Jack shrugged. "It is. Only a little, mate. But it's enough."_

_"No, Jack," he insisted, reaching for his arm to turn him around. "You're wrong."_

_The freezing cold touch of the older Turner's hands was jarring-a far cry from the warmth that the man used to exude. Jack closed his eyes against it. It was the chill of death, and his blood ran cold with it. _

_"You have never tried to take my son's family from him. You're a part of his family, Jack. You know that, you do." The older man's death grip tightened on Jack's arms. "Don't listen to what he says. He doesn't know you."_

_"Is it me you're talking about?"_

_Jack swallowed, staring up at William Turner's brown eyes._

_Will Turner stood behind his father, his own brown eyes full of fire. "Is it me you're discussing, father? With the man who is responsible for your not being at my side-"_

_"You know nothing of it, boy!"_

_Barbossa roared with laughter._

_Jack wished suddenly for the man's pistol._

_"I know enough!" Will Turner drew his sword. "I know he's not the good man I thought him to be."_

_"You're confused, son." William Turner pushed the sword away and shook his head. "Go on."_

_Scowling, Will disappeared._

_Barbossa's laughter ceased._

_Jack's brows snapped together._

_"How the blazes did you do that?" Barbossa demanded._

_"With authority you could never hope to possess."_

_Jack left the two to argue superphysical limitations and strolled along the water's edge to the other side of the island. It was dark. He sat down in the sand to watch the waves roll in. Glancing to the left, he frowned. Where there wasn't one before, there was now a fire going. A big one. The one that was blazing the night that Elizabeth had taught him that song._

_"Jack?"_

_Elizabeth. He sighed. "What?"_

_"You seem troubled."_

_"Go away." He pointed at the bottle she held in her hand. "And take your rum with you, missy!" _

_When the island disappeared and his quarters upon the Black Pearl replaced it, Jack wasn't about to complain. Well, not about that, he wouldn't._

_"Utterly ridiculous," Jack fumed. "The lad's gone mad!"_

_Sitting in the high-backed chair, William Turner smoked his pipe in silence, his brown eyes following the younger man's pacing across the planked floor. For several moments, silence reined and he considered speaking. After great deliberation, he exhaled._

_"Do you know what he said about me?" Jack spun around, furious. "Do you know what your son said? Guess, bloody guess. Guess! Just guess!"_

_William put the pipe back in his mouth._

_"Is that it? Is that the response I get?" He glared at the older Turner. "You're supposed to bestow upon me your divine guidance and that's all you can afford to give?"_

_He exhaled._

_Jack grit his teeth._

_William closed his eyes. "The both of you are giving me a headache."_


	11. Beware of Waking

"This seems a bad idea, lass," Gibbs pointed out. "Breakin into a famous pirate's hideaway is bad luck."

Anamaria rolled her eyes. She jiggled the metal pick sideways and frowned at the lack of response. Normally she had no trouble picking locks, and this one was starting to get on her nerves. After a row to shore with near no help from Joshamee Gibbs, she had not felt much like fighting with a stubborn bit of metal. She had not felt much like fighting with anything stubborn, including the superstitious sailor. But after fighting with the stubborn bit of metal, she felt very argumentative.

"Not if the famous pirate's long gone," she spat.

"Double bad luck when he's dead," Gibbs lamented.

Anamaria grit her teeth.

Gibbs frowned at the troublesome lock. "Ain't got her picked yet?"

"Does it look like I have it picked?" She glared at him and turned back to work, jamming the pick in the keyhole. Twisting it, she tried to find the niche that would catch the cam and turn it against the pins inside. She found none. She heard not the sound she was trying to hear, the click that would admit them into the house. "Blast!"

"Is it locked?"

"If it wasn't locked would I be trying to pick it?!"

"Did you try the knob?"

"It ain't gonna turn if it's locked, ya fool! Watch!" Anamaria yanked her pick out of the tumbler. Scowling up at Gibbs, she grabbed the doorknob and twisted. "Ya see? It ain't—" The knob twisted under her hand. Her gaze hooked to it and then returned to Gibbs. The sailor's grin flushed her face. When he patted her shoulder she tsked and slapped his meaty hand away.

They watched as she eased the door open.

Under his breath Gibbs cussed an incantation of protection to ward off the doubly terrible bad luck they were sure to suffer as they crossed the threshold. Anamaria smacked his shoulder. She shut the door quietly behind them and squinted into the darkness.

The Tortugan cottage was a bright and airy place in the daytime, but at night it was as dark as any. Luckily, Anamaria had spent a bit of time there and knew that to her right on the wall rested a candle lantern. She reached for the matches in her pocket. The struck stick cast enough light on the wall to spot the lamp, and she thrust the flame at the wicks of the candles inside. In the yellow glow of light she blew out the match, grabbed the lantern from its hook on the wall, and snuck through the open room afront them.

"Well come on," she growled at Gibbs lagging behind her.

In the dark and lit only by candlelight, the room was much more enchanting than she remembered. It had always been striking—gilded statues and exotic silks and draughts of velvet. But without the bright sun streaming in the windows, it was a murky, intoxicating space. Gold caught her eye and Anamaria smiled, running a hand over the trident of Neptune's statue as she passed it. With a glance backward she found Gibbs studying the gilded god. She smacked away his hand and, scowling back at him, turned her head toward the hallway ahead.

Gibbs gave a grunt of displeasure and followed.

The leopard fur under their boots muffled their steps as they crept forward. Doorways flanked by golden sentinels, set in gilded arches, and cloaked in thick velvet drapes lined the long passageway. Anamaria tried not to let the splendid walls that shimmered in the candlelight, nor the gold glow of the decorations, distract her. Fine as they might be, she was set on getting to the last door.

It was straight ahead at the end of the hall. Shrouded in velvet, as deep and dark a blue as the midnight lagoon outside, the shining jewel of a door was larger than the ones they had passed and its setting twice as decorated. Elaborate designs, swirls and knots and swishes of fish tail, were carved into the arches that crowned it. A pair of golden mermaids, one finned femme to each side, stood guard.

"Not one cursed fishwoman but two," Gibbs grumbled behind her. "It gets worse and worse."

"Mermaids ain't bad luck," she growled to him. "Specially statues of em!"

"They're trouble sure as the day's long."

"Well then ya got double the trouble, ya crazy coot." Anamaria stopped. She held up a hand to silence the muttering Gibbs and listened. Save for the soft sound of her breathing and the less soft of that of the oaf behind her the place was quiet. Pressing her lips together, she stepped, one boot quietly over the other, between the reaching hands of the mermaidens toward the door. She reached a hand out to grasp velvet but stopped short. Beyond the thick curtain there was a stirring and she had heard it. Flicking a hand up she hushed the grumbling Gibbs, who'd plodded right into her, once more.

The sound was soft, but Anamaria had been a pirate long enough to hone her ability to hear such sounds. The one teasing her ears was but a whisper. It was a rustling of silks, she decided. It was silks rustling and the soft murmur of sleep. She lowered her hand and looked over her shoulder at Gibbs. "Ya ready?"

The scruffy sailor frowned. "Don't got a choice do I?"

"Now Joshamee ya know I ain't the demandin sort," she whispered. "Ya always got a choice. Follow me in or don't. But I'd be choosin wisely. Wouldn't want Jack to find out what happens," she pointed accusingly at the man's chest, "to all his missing rum."

Gibbs flushed, hiding the flask beneath his shirt. "Aye." He grinned and nodded toward the door. "Ladies first."

Anamaria rolled her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she parted the velvet curtains in the middle and stepped through them to the other side. If she'd never been in the room before she'd have been bamboozled. It was lavishly decorated and equally as intoxicating in the candlelight as the other they'd crept through.

Stepping carefully on the plush rug under her heels, Anamaria approached the bed. Drenched in the moonlight streaming from a wide window above it and draped in sumptuous silks and satins, the grand thing, in all its sprawling gilded glory, was fit for a king. But it was a Queen who slept in it.

The pirates stood staring down at her sleeping form.

"Ya know," Anamaria swallowed, "I ain't ever seen her look as sweet."

For all the years she had sailed the same waters as the slight captainess, she could not remember such a soft smile on the fine face of the woman. No, on the contrary Anamaria remembered most the woman's lips pressed in a thin line or, on occasion—usually when dealing with insufferable circumstances, merciless villains, indomitable evil entities, and Jack—a hissing, teeth-baring grimace. She had seen many a smirk on the woman's face and many a grin but never had she seen Alice Witter, Ice Queen of the Caribbean, with the pink bud of her mouth open in a tiny smile that made her seem a perfect doll.

It wasn't that she didn't look the part to begin with what with the shiny snow-white hair, pale porcelain skin, and fine features. That she did—down to the ringlets curled in her hair and the tiny bow tied at her neck. But dolls had rosy cheeks, soft smiles, and wide bright eyes. Alice Witter was called the Ice Queen of the Caribbean for a reason that did not include any of those things. The niece of Onry Witter, politically correct pirate king still revered after his death as one of the sea's finest embodiments of the salted spirit, was sharp as ice and twice as cold.

Or so the stories went.

In any case, Anamaria didn't like the woman much but she needed her. She needed to wake her and she dreaded it. Alice looked for all the world to be perfectly content in her snoozing. If the woman was having a breakthrough—some strange emotion slicing through the ice around her heart—Anamaria did not want to be the one to interrupt.

Neither did Gibbs. "Maybe it be best to let her sleep, Marie," he rasped to her. "Let her see the _Pearl_ for herself."

"Let her wonder why it's there," she whispered, nodded fast.

"Aye." Gibbs grinned. "Let her wake and wonder on her own!"

"Let her come to the _Pearl_ when she will!"

"Aye, lettin her sleep would be best, lass."

"Unfortunately, I am already awake." The woman's cool, clear voice pierced the hush. Both pirates froze, finding the open end of the barrel of a golden gun aimed at them and as loaded with danger as the steely eyes she gazed at them with. "And not, I should like to add, of my own free will." Alice Witter sat up and slid herself back against her bed pillows, arms out to hold the pistol trained on the two pirates at the foot of her bed. She smirked at them. "And I don't need to wonder. I already know. Coincidentally my answer is no as well."

"No one asked nothin of ya," Anamaria spat.

"Not yet. But," the woman's eyes narrowed on her, "you will."

"Why you—"

"Captain Witter, it's Jack." Gibbs stepped in front of her. "He ain't right. Somethin's amiss with the lad. Off center, he is and ain't no one been able to talk sense into him."

"Mister Gibbs, do tell me something I don't already know."

The sailor frowned.

But Anamaria had caught the note of laughter in the woman's voice. She smiled in spite of herself and pushed Gibbs out of the way. "Look lady I ain't no fool. I know ya know somethin's wrong and I know you'll be on the _Pearl_ soon as ya can to find out what. Much as any of us say otherwise we all care about that daft pirate and his bloody boat."

Alice arched a brow. She laid the gun on the table beside her and folded her arms across her chest. The moonlight glinted in her grey eyes as she stared up at them. Moments passed in silence as she regarded them, from Anamaria to Gibbs and back. "Fine." A soft sigh slumped her shoulders. "I'll get dressed. But I promise nothing." A flash of a smile crossed her face and was gone. "Now get out."

Anamaria tried to keep the triumph from her face as she nodded. Clashing with Alice Witter was nothing new, but winning the battle was. Not wanting to jinx it, she turned and followed Gibbs from the room. Over her shoulder, she smiled sweetly at the woman and topped it off with a wink. "We'll be waitin."

So they did wait.

Anamaria was near to knocking her head against the wall. She'd been standing in the great open room, with a too snoopy Joshamee Gibbs, for what seemed like weary hours while the woman readied herself. For all the time the wench took, Anamaria had guessed that she could fairly assume the woman fancied herself a princess rather than a captainess. No woman she knew, not even the Governor's daughter Elizabeth, took as long to freshen up as the Ice Queen.

Gibbs was admiring a set of smooth obsidian candlesticks.

"_Oh come on!_" Anamaria stomped a boot. "_It ain't tea time at the King's palace you'll be off to!_"

"_Shut up!_"

Anamaria stared in surprise at the shrill that screeched at her from somewhere in the place.

"_I'll not be hurried to do something I don't wish to do!_"

Gibbs snickered and poked a rosewood statue of Siddharta Buddha in its round belly.

Anamaria rolled her eyes.

It was sometime later when the woman appeared in the doorway, dressed to the hilt in pale blue silk and ruffles of snow white. She'd even tied a matching bow at her neck and taken the time to tend to her corkscrew curls. Anamaria eyed her but she seemed to ignore it, slipping into the room and slapping Gibbs' hands from the trident of Neptune he had been about to touch.

The sailor scowled.

"For not wantin to go ya sure did gussy yourself up." Anamaria pointed out, noting with a skeptical eye the yards of lace fluffing her skirts and a row of satin bows lining the back of the woman's bodice. She folded her arms. "What's in the bag?"

Alice Witter glanced at the sack slung over her shoulder. It was squirming. "Personal items."

Anamaria quirked a brow.

"There's a trunk in the hall," Alice said, breezing past them to take an ivory-handled dagger from a display mount, "and two chests in my bedchamber." She hiked up her skirts-ruffles of lace and all-and slid the weapon into a sheath fastened to the lacy garter around her thigh. Patting the layers primly back into place, she turned and nodded to the pirates, smiling sweetly at them both in turn and serving Anamaria with a wink. Then she turned sharply toward the door. "I'll be waiting!"


	12. Good Mornings

Day was just breaking over the eastern perimeter of palms, light streaking the edges of the sky's horizon, when Isaac returned to the deck from returning an exhausted Elizabeth to her cabin. He'd missed the Caribbean sunrise. He'd also missed the strange pack of pirates that seemed to crawl out of the woodwork of the _Black Pearl_ at the crack of dawn and he smiled at various members of Jack's crew as they went about the early morning routine. Several of them, those that he did not recognize, gave him strange looks as they shuffled around him. Marty the mini-sized pirate grinned upon catching sight of him, and took his usual mighty crack at the taller man's knee as he passed.

"Feels like not a day's gone by," Isaac remarked, if only to himself.

"Out the way, Captain!"

"What?" Isaac jumped aside to find a rather grumpy looking Cook with a bucket of water in his hands.

Cook readjusted his glasses and frowned up at him. "Isaac? Wot the devil? I thought you was the Captain!"

"Where _is_ the Captain?"

"Sleepin?" Cook shrugged. He started away but stopped and pointed a finger at him. "Don't be wakin that man up, lad. From what I hear he needs his sleep more than ol' Cooky as of late."

Isaac frowned after the old man as he trudged away. The cook's words didn't sit easy with him. His first encounter on the ship had been with a panicked and sad-faced Elizabeth who had declined to discuss the matters which distressed her. He had fully expected to see the captain of the _Black Pearl_ up bright and early flouncing around chatting with his crew. A knot formed in his stomach as the possibility occurred to him that Jack was not well. The pirate captain could have been ill or in a state of declining health for quite some time unbeknownst to him. Afterall, he had been gone for so long. Too long, and he cursed inwardly at himself for it.

Just as he was about to march into the captain's quarters before he lost his nerve, the pirates on deck scurried to hook and pull a longboat up onto the deck. Curious, he stood there across the deck watching. When it was swung up over the rail he laid eyes on a most welcome sight. A smile he felt even at the corners of his eyes broke across his face at the dainty doll that was Alice Witter. Tearing across the deck he went, pushing past several disconcerted pirates all the way. He whisked her up into his arms, buried his face in her hair, and inhaled the sweet smell of her.

The woman was startled, feeling his shoulders and arms. "Jack?" When he put her down, she gasped. Her hands went to her mouth. Grey eyes shining, she grabbed him up in her own hug. "Isaac! What did blasted London do to you? You look like-like oh you poor-_Jack_, for heaven's sake! Good god, but you're a man!"

"And you're still a sweet doll," he murmured, drawing her closer. "Thank the heavens you're here."

"Or curse them," Gibbs muttered.

Isaac grinned at the sailor whose arms were full with a large trunk. "Well, well, well." He watched the man dump the thing onto the deck and huff back to the boat to take two smaller chests from it and plunk them down beside it. "If it ain't Joshamee Good Luck Gibbs!"

"Aye," Gibbs grinned back at him. "Been too long with ya gone, Isaac! Jack's gone mad!"

"Tell me something I don't already know," Isaac challenged.

The sailor looked from him to Alice. And then back to him. Muttering under his breath, Gibbs plodded off into the crowd of pirates.

Isaac furrowed a brow down at the woman. "What's that about?"

"Nothing important," she told him. A small smile crept onto her face as she gazed up at him. "You're here!"

"I'm here," he agreed, forgetting his fears for the moment. He smiled down at her, cursing inwardly at the tears that had snuck into his eyes. The woman closest to his heart had not changed a single bit since the last time he saw her. It had been nearly six years ago that he had watched her sail away with Jack on the ship they stood on. "Older and wiser and, best of all, home."

Alice Witter studied the man that had been a wiry boy the last time she'd laid eyes on him. She cursed herself for the tears in her eyes and even more so for the smile on her face. The pirates gathering around them were eyeing her curiously, and she could not blame them for she was sure she had rarely shone such emotion in their presence. Anamaria, the one she liked to spar with, seemed stunned but Alice could not determine if it was the look on her face or the man in front of her which startled the dark beauty. Even Gibbs was back, unable to resist the young gent that had left the _Pearl_ as a boy so long ago to become a proper man.

Feeling as if the assembled group would crush her, she grabbed up the sack she'd dropped and snuck away. But not without with one last wistful glance at Isaac. Pride swelled in her chest and she found she had to turn away lest the tears burn her eyes worse than they already had.

Crossing the deck quickly, she opened the door to Jack's quarters and slipped inside. Unlike the man's surrogate son, his ship had not changed much. _Pearl_ was as familiar as always. She had to agree with the boy-whenever it was that she found herself on the beautiful ship, she felt as if she were right at home.

"Psst," she hissed over her shoulder. "Stop fussing!"

The sack rested.

As her heels tapped down onto the last step into Jack's territory, she sighed. From the looks of things, the pirate hadn't changed either. There was definitely another person in his bed. His hair, if it was good for anything, was easily discernible from that of other people. The sunstreaked head of hair was certainly _not_ his. Laying the sack gently on the floor, she tiptoed toward the bed and leaned over it, frowning down at the pirate and the person snuggled up against him. Whoever it was was very, very small-childlike even.

Just then, the person moved and the little girl's content, sleeping face turned towards her. Little Lucy Turner, looking for all the world like a teensy tiny Elizabeth, was snuggled in the warm comforting arms of a softly-snoring pirate. Jack's innocent, sleeping face was as content as the girl's.

Alice couldn't help but smile at the two snoozing seraphs. Angels they were in sleep, both of them. Little Lucy, she figured, looked much like an angel awake. But Captain Jack Sparrow, infamous Scourge of the Caribbean, looked in sleep, with his wild locks and unusual clunky beads, like a highly decorated archangel who'd been sent to the earth to wander its farthest reaches.

Whatever had forced Anamaria to seek her out was obviously not bothering the man at the moment, she decided, leaving the bedside to stare at herself in the fancy mirror hooked to the far wall. Her hand slid to the flash of gold peeking at her hip, the butt-cap of the pistol she'd tucked into the holster hidden in her skirt. A thrill ran through her as her thumb grazed it and she closed her eyes.

Most of the company she kept scoffed at her frills. She let them. They had no idea what lurked under her beloved ruffles and bows. The dagger on her thigh, the pistol in her skirt, and the switchblade in an underside pocket cold between the swell of her cleavage they could not see. The pouch of powder in a pocket under the large bow above her backside didn't exist to them. For all they knew she was just another dainty rich woman.

Alice opened her eyes and studied her reflection. As it turned out, 'dainty rich woman' rather suited her. The new dress was simply stunning. Even if it had not held a secret stash, she would have been glad to wear it. Straightening the bow at her neck, she left the mirror to behold Jack's own finery. The man was as ardent about surrounding himself in luxury as she was-sumptuous silks, rich jewel tones, and an abundance of gold set the captain's quarters asparkle.

As she made her way back across the room, she ran a hand through a tray of the man's many jeweled accoutrements. Absentmindedly adorning herself with the dazzling trinkets, she looked at a sword she hadn't previously laid eyes on, and admired its make. It had been a gift from Turner, no doubt, she decided, picking it up. The decadence in simplicity gave away the blacksmith's work. Turning it this way and that, she admired its grace in the sunlight basking through the faceted stern windows. "Well, well Will Turner. Now how am I going to swindle you into creating a weapon equally fine?" The sword slid easily into the scabbard at her side. "I hope I don't have to be." she grimaced, "_Nice_."

A series of thumps drew her attention down to the floor. The sack she'd deposited had wriggled itself to her feet, and was squirming and hissing at her. "Stop fussing," she hissed back. In a huff, she flumped down beside the sleeping pirate to wait for his waking.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_The Black Pearl disappeared. "William?"_

_"Dessert is served."_

_Looming over him was an impressively tall butler standing impeccably straight. The white-wigged fellow's nose was in the air and Jack remembered him as belonging to the Governor. He frowned, looking down at the table he sat at. It, too, was the Governor's. What purpose had he at the Swann residence? Dessert?_

_"Is there something wrong?"_

_Jack looked up, surprised to find himself alone in the cavernous room. To the left the table was empty, and to the right the same. The only thing at the other end of the table was an empty seat. Suspicious, he whipped his head around, fully expecting to catch someone standing behind him. He didn't._

_"What's the problem, Sparrow?"_

_The Commodore. Blasted Norrington, and where was he? Jack's eyes narrowed. He pushed his chair back and bent to look under the table. Unless the Commodore had suddenly turned himself into a dustbunny-unlikely-he wasn't there. Frustrated, Jack cussed and sat up. _

_Well, the cheeky chum could play his games to his heart's desire. He, however, desired the date with dessert. Hopefully, it was something delicious. Picking up the tiny spoon that had been placed within reach of his fingertips, Jack looked down at the bowl in front of him._

_"Well, well. There is something troubling you."_

_Jack dropped the spoon and stared down in horror at his dessert._

_It was Norrington. Norrington's head. Norrington's head, complete with condescending scowl, made from what looked to be fine frozen custard. "Stop being such a ninny, and eat me!"_

Jack's eyes popped open.

Grey eyes met his. Staring down at him was a silent Alice Witter.

"No no no," he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Not another nightmare!" The tug on his beard was real, however, and forced his eyes open. He scowled up at her. "You know, if one more person grabs hold of me hair, I'm going to seriously consider chopping every bit of it off."

"Not the worst idea you've ever had," she told him, letting go of the plaits.

Jack reached for his offended chin and rubbed it, wincing.

"Nightmares, Jack?"

He shuddered. "Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to know."

"I don't trust you when you tell me anything," she pointed out.

"And a good thing that is," he agreed, sitting up.

Little Lucy stirred, turning towards him and reaching for him in her sleep. When she couldn't find him, her lip curled in frustration. Sensing impending doom for his ears-not to mention the ears of everyone else in the Caribbean, Jack offered his hand to hers and watched her little girl arms wrap around his wrist. It was such a small but enormously heartwarming gesture. Not for the first time, he wondered how Will managed to be such a sour sort.

"Looks as if the little one's discovered the charms of Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Well," he said softly, mouth twitching up in a smile, "they are difficult to resist."

"Not entirely."

"Spoken by a woman who somehow always ends up on my ship, I'll not take it to heart."

"Have you a heart?"

Jack laid his hand over it and turned sad eyes to her. They narrowed, however, on the many sparkly things he recognized as riches he'd acquired. The diamonds glittering at her throat he'd lifted off of the neck of a wide-eyed debutante. The glittering bracelet he'd taken from a chest that had belonged to a fat French woman. The big smoky gem set in silver on her index finger he'd plucked off of a livid merchant's finger, the band of diamonds on the other hand he'd fished out of a Governor's wife's jewelry box, and the dainty diamond set in delicate golden swirls on her ring finger he'd had made by a very flustered jeweler from a very religious and very pirate-intolerant Spanish colony before he and the crew sailed off under the nose of a very angry Spanish viceroy. Scowling, he held out his hand.

Alice beamed, admiring the sparkle on her wrist. "Oh Jack, I simply adore it!"

"Of course you do, love. It's worth a fortune." He smiled. "Which is what I happen to adore about it meself. Now give it back."

Pouting, she did.

"Necklace."

"You," she told him, sighing sadly as she unhooked the necklace, "are such a-"

"Pirate. And the rings." He watched her lip tremble with each ring less. The last one, the delicate diamond he'd nearly gotten noosed by, he shook his head at. "No, love. That one's all yours."

"But it's," she turned it in the light, "obviously the work of Emeraldo Emorro. The most sought after Spanish jeweler in the entire world! You must have gone to great lengths to get your hands on this."

"I was in the area."

"The _area_ being a very heavily guarded Spanish port!" Alice frowned. "Why are you giving me this? What are your terms?"

Jack shrugged, tucking the jewelry in his pocket. For whatever reason, people just couldn't accept his generosity without questions asked. Alice was one of those people, and he suspected she always would be. If it was the pirate's blood in her, that instinctual bit of a pirate that insists upon the mistrust of other pirates, or the natural suspicion he seemed to arise from everyone, he didn't know.

Pretending to consider her, he wondered, quite naturally, what the best terms for the woman would be. It was instinctual, afterall. He was a pirate. "My terms, Miss Witter, are these." He stopped to study the ring. And really, it was a very lovely ring. Fine piece of work from the famous Emeraldo despite the man's incredible case of jitters. Worth quite a lot, he was sure. Positive it was worth. worth what? What was-that _hissing_ sound-it worth? Frustrated for his apparent inability to place a price of worth on the thing, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he sighed, flicking his fingers at the air as if it was what had irritated him. "That you wear it. That you enjoy wearing it. And that I enjoy your enjoying your wearing it."

She stared at him.

"The end. That's it. Those are my terms."

"That's it? That's all?" Her eyes narrowed on him. "No double entendre? No hidden agendas? No 'surprise, love, you're along for the toss on the high seas with my unfortunate crew and even less fortunate friends on a circumnavigal trip to find a terribly awful cursed treasure which is nothing but trouble and twice as difficult to leave behind for all its glittering glory'?"

"Well." he smiled. "No. I meant what I said."

"You did."

"I did." Jack nodded. "So. do we have an accord?"

Alice fell silent, studying the ring she slipped back on her finger.

"No, no." Panic gripped his gut and he grimaced. "Not that hand. The other one, love."

"Aye. We've an accord. I agree to your terms." She smiled at the ring she hadn't switched to her right hand and swatted his reaching fingers away. "And if you are to enjoy my enjoying my wearing it, it'll be this hand I wear it on. Otherwise I won't enjoy wearing it, you won't enjoy my enjoying my wearing it, and then we're both simply back to trying to find a good enough reason to give and accept what seems to be a priceless present."

Jack's eyes grew wide as the woman leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

"Now," she said with a flicker of a smile as she sat back, "what has Anamaria so worked up as to wake me from my peaceful slumber? Are you going to let the cat out of the bag? Or am I going to have to drag it out?"

Jack frowned, the low sound of hissing once again loud in his ears. He glanced toward the edge of the bed and down, as if he might see the floor. "I was just about to ask the same thing."

Then it had been her eyes that had widened. Quick as a whip she reached for the bag, listening as Jack staggered through the account of all the trouble aboard the Pearl since they'd left Port Royal. T'was a rather entertaining story, she thought.

"And to end all, swear on me ship, love," Jack said, "he asks Elizabeth if t'was him truly fathered the chits!"

"Well, well, well." Alice paused in her petting of the striped grey cat perched on Jack's knee. "Perhaps Will Turner has-guts-afterall."

Jack rolled his eyes. They darkened. "So you see," he said, "I had no other choice but to knock some sense into him."

"Oh, I know the feeling."

Resuming her soothing strokes down Ash's soft fur, Alice watched the darker cat with the yellow eyes sniff, whiskers twitching curiously, at the trinkets in Jack's hair. Cinder knew every bauble in the pirate's mane, but his investigation upon Jack's appearance was always the same as was Jack's reaction to it-a chiding tsk-and neither ever failed to amuse her. She smothered a giggle as the cat stretched up to lick, with its pink tongue, the tip of the pirate's nose.

"Yes, hello to you too, dear Cinder." Jack traced his fingertips between the cat's ears. "I hope the ladies haven't given you too much trouble while I was off."

"Please," she scoffed. "As if men are any less trouble than women! Especially the two of you!"

Ash blinked her agreement.

Jack winced. "They're teaming up on us, mate."

"Look at the trouble that you and Will have recently caused for each other as well as those around you." Her eyes narrowed at him. "Not to mention those affected who were _not_ in the vicinity-like me and my being yanked from a warm, comfortable bed. Though, under the circumstances, I can't say I blame you."

Jack looked as if he were about to sigh, when another sigh drew his attention to the little girl at his side. Little Lucy's dark eyes squinted up at him as she woke from her slumber. Giggling, she squirmed to hide under the covers. Alice arched a brow at Jack, who winked at her and promptly yanked the cover back from the girl child's head, issuing another burst of giggles from the little chit. A tug of war ensued, until Little Lucy went mad with the giggles. Chuckling, Jack scooped her up in his arms and plunked her down on his lap, sending both indignant cats to safe hiding.

Alice glanced over her shoulder at the animals huddled behind the poof of her skirt. Blue and yellow eyes glared up at her. She glared back. Ash and Cinder promptly curled up, purring together, against her rump. When she turned back to the pirate in front of her, she wasn't surprised to see him accepting a tiny kiss on the cheek from the little girl. Nor was she surprised to see the man brighten and peck the girl's cheeks in return. For whatever reason, children agreed with Jack Sparrow. And as much as he insisted otherwise, he was good with them-a trait she couldn't help but envy, as it seemed to escape her. Feeling auspiciously out of place, she fidgeted with the ring on her finger.

"If only every lass was as agreeable in the morning," he lamented.

Alice shot him a warning look.

Jack smiled. Someone cleared his throat, and he frowned, looking up at Cook who stood at the top of the stairs, tray in his hands. "Well it's about time you've made an appearance! Is that my breakfast? At this late an hour it may as well be lunch." He eyed the fidgeting, spectacled man as he descended the steps and came closer. "What's taken so long?"

"Sorry Captain." Cook set the tray on the table beside his captain and exchanged glances with Alice, who gave a slight shake of her head. The older man forced a smile on his face and nodded brightly at the captain, whose gaze had hooked to the syrupy rolls he'd piled on one of the plates. "Distractions and the like."

"Distractions?" Jack offered the little girl a roll and when she shook her head, he shrugged and took a big bite out of it. Cheeks puffed, he pointed a wagging finger at Cook and uttered something that could not be deciphered through his mouthful of walnuts and molasses.

"Aye aye!" Cook grinned, adjusting his glasses. "Thought you'd say that!" When Jack, still chewing, nodded at him and waved him away, he went up the stairs, hesitated at the top, and raised an exuberant hand in salute before disappearing altogether.

Alice stared at Jack, wondering if what he'd said was worth the trouble of translation.

"Help yourself," he told her. "I'm sure Anamaria didn't fix your breakfast. Not that you'd eat it if she did and not to say I'd blame you." He frowned. "For all her seaworthiest skills, she never did master the galley."

"Nor did I," she reminded him, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Or Elizabeth, as I hear the story about the owl pudding is quite a hoot. Some women are less than skillful with a spoon."

"The three of you take less than skillful to a whole new level, I assure you." Jack winced. "Cook and I decided it best to hide every last spoon after the owl pudding incident."

"Owl pudding," Little Lucy whimpered. She shook her head vehemently. "No, never."

"Aye," Jack agreed, handing her a bunch of plump grapes, "we're unanimous in that, little love."

Alice laughed, despite herself, and Little Lucy eyed her curiously. Popping a grape into her tiny mouth, the little girl's dark eyes shifted away and she turned her head. But if all of her years of spending time with Jack Sparrow had taught her anything, it was never to underestimate even the slightest gesture-and Alice didn't. When the little girl turned away her eyes had shifted back to study her in secret. In the instant Alice noticed, she pretended not to. Encouragement for the girl to engage her in conversation was not something she wished to give. If she pretended to ignore Little Lucy and Little Lucy pretended to ignore her, so much the better.

"Well you look piqued, love. Something the matter?"

Jack's question jolted Alice from her thoughts, but she recovered quickly, steeling herself against his gaze. She shrugged, sipping her coffee. "Of course not." A quick glance up at the man and she knew by the pucker of his lips that he did not believe her.

"Liar."

Alice was about to tell him off when she realized that the voice that had uttered the dig at her had been much too high and light to have came from his mouth. She paused, seeing the corner of his mouth twitch up, and puckered her own lips. Following his gaze down to the little girl sitting on his lap, she found Little Lucy's steady, gauging gaze upon her. The knowledge that the girl had seen through her and had actually made the judgement call unnerved her, and she found herself suddenly only able to swallow.

"You know, little love," Jack said, patting the girl on the head, "that trick might come in handy one of these days. As for now, well after we've-and by we I mean I-finished off Cook's cinnamon rolls. I think perhaps we would-and by we I mean we-benefit from a step or two outside."

Alice sighed, relieved. "Yes, I do agree." The morning miracle was still fresh in her mind. She could not fight the fond smile that tugged at her lips. "A breath of fresh air is always most helpful when one finds themselves in a spot of trouble."


	13. Happy Homecoming

Will woke with a start, wondering not for the first time if the man in his dreams had really been anything like the man his father had been. Over the years he'd had many dreams in which the man had played a part. But dreams, he always ended up reasoning with himself, were only the musings of one's own inner self. He was reminding himself of that fact once more when he sat up and found his son, golden eyes smiling, sitting on the bunk across from the one they had slept on. For the first time, the boy was waiting patiently.

"Good morning, Jack."

"Morning Da."

Will nodded and ducked his head, suddenly ashamed of the tears he'd cried on his boy's shoulder. He was ashamed of many things all at once, and the guilt weighed on him so heavily that he gasped.

Jack was quiet, watching him.

"I am sorry, Jack." He shook his head, unable to meet the boy's gaze. "For many things. I've been so busy-but it's no excuse nor am I one for excuses. There has been much on my mind and I am afraid it has cost me Jack's friendship, your mother's love, and the respect of you and Lucy-my children." He forced himself to look up into his son's face. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Course I can!" Jack turned serious. "So'll Lucy. But I think Ma's going to need some convincing. And I know Uncle Jack's going to need a very big on-your-knees sort of apology."

Will sighed. "Yes, I was also afraid of that."

He had followed his son to their cabin, where he had thought it best to stay put in the corridor, and when Jack had emerged he had followed him cautiously up the stairs, quietly and thinking all the while about how to apologize to an older, not completely wiser, and certainly more troublesome Jack. When they reached the top of the steps where the sun poured down, Will paused.

With the sun high above, Will guessed that it was noon or after. He could not remember a recent time in which the Black Pearl had been so still and silent so late into the day. Normally the ship was cutting through the blue waters of the Caribbean, all of her crew barreling exuberantly about as their captain took her wherever it was whatever it was they were after was waiting. Captain Jack Sparrow had never been one to waste time in the morning, despite however many late hours he put in, without good reason. His stomach tying in knots, Will decided that he didn't like being that reason.

Will took a deep breath. The breeze was not as brisk as it had been the previous day, but it was just enough to soothe him. Feeling strangely calm, he raised his gaze to the helm where he had expected to find the captain of the ship.

Cotton nodded down at him, the yellow parrot on his shoulder squawking his hello. The small woman beside him scowled and rushed down the steps toward Will, her dark, untied hair streaming behind her. Anamaria stalked, dark eyes dangerous, across the deck. She pulled young Jack out of her way and stopped short of stepping on Will's toes. He froze, staring into her eyes as he remembered that that sort of greeting was usually one she reserved for Jack Sparrow, and usually one that ended with a fierce, head-spinning slap to the jaw. When she raised her hand, he flinched, readying himself for it.

Anamaria paused, shooting a glance at the young boy who'd gone stock still beneath the clutch of her other hand. Instead of the slap she'd intended, she wagged a finger in front of Will's face and gave a slight shake of her head. "I won't have nonsense on this ship. So ya best watch yourself, Turner—and don't worry, cause if ya can't handle it, I'll be watchin ya too."

"I—"

"Save it!" She let go of the boy and turned on her heel. "I ain't got the time for it!"

Will sighed and strode after her. "Please, hear me out! I know I've made a mistake!" He stopped when she did, glancing at the line she tied to another. "I know I've not behaved as a man should! I know I've been wretched! I know I've been—a," he paused, grabbing her arm and hauling her around, "right pain in the arse, lately. But—"

"But nothin!" The woman scowled at the hand gripping her elbow, but she softened as she looked up at him. A hint of a smile lit her face for a split-second, but then it was gone. "You're right, Turner, ya have been a right pain in the arse! If you're askin what ya can do to ease the suffering you've caused in our backsides I'd wager apologies be the way to go."

"I do not know where to begin with my apologies," he confessed, looking in shame at his feet.

"Few ever do."

Will looked up at her and caught her gaze for a moment. When it went past him, he turned, following it over his shoulder to the men below. He had not noticed them for his eyes had been searching for only Jack Sparrow before. Now he saw them, nearly all of them and his son who wriggled betweenst them until he was between Gibbs and Cook, gathered around someone he expected to be his friend entertaining his crew. Just for an instant, he thought it was Jack he was looking at. But unless the pirate had doffed his beads and baubles and grown years younger overnight, it wasn't. When the young man looked up, his blue eyes sparkled at Will, and recognition dawned on him as he realized he was looking at Isaac Faust.

"Does _everyone_ look like Jack?"

Anamaria smiled, shaking her head.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"She has your eyes."

Jack rolled his. "And that's the trouble aye?" He picked Little Lucy up, surprised he hadn't found her to be so heavy the day before. "But there are occasions, Miss Witter, when things are not what they seem. Looks can be deceiving." He glanced at the woman's skirt, not surprised to catch a glimmer of gold at her hip. "A fact which has its—advantages... as you well know."

Her hand went to the spot, concealing the shine beneath it. "Indeed."

"Outside?" Little Lucy pouted and pointed at the door ahead.

"Yes, we're going. We're going." Jack tried his best to look his stern self, despite the little girl on his hip and the woman whose lead he followed out the door, to whatever men lurked about. Much to his surprise, it seemed the entire crew was on deck—and crowding it at that. He was also surprised that such an occurrence had not wrought its usual pandemonium. They weren't even boisterous. In fact, there was but a buzz amongst them. Such a situation put a quiver in his belly. When the crew of the _Black Pearl_ were quiet, they were up to something, and when they were up to something, they were _really_ up to _something_, and when they were _really_ up to _something_ it was usually _not anything_ that could be classified as "good".

Ignoring the tiny hands exploring his hair, Jack stepped forward. When his heel hit the plank, several heads turned. The pirates that saw him nudged other men around them and the buzz hushed. A new din rose almost immediately, whispers and hushed voices humming together. "Captain's out," he heard one of the men whisper. "Hush up," warned another. Frowning, he tried to see over a few of the crew to the center of the circle. Finding it nearly impossible, he pushed past a few of them toward the steps to the helm, uttering his apologies all the way.

Quickly tapping heels behind him caught up and Jack sighed, allowing whomever it was to fall into step beside him. Spying Will at the top of the steps with Anamaria and suspecting that whatever it was the crew were up to was something that would require his full attention, he resisted the urge to knock him on his arse and presented Little Lucy to him. "Believe I've got something of yours, Mr. Turner."

Will opened his mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it, accepting the girl silently. When the blacksmith turned his head to kiss the girl's hair, Jack had to force himself not to wince at the bruise purpling his cheek. Remembering Barbossa's cringe-inducing cackle, he closed his eyes to will it away. Opening them, he found Will's beseeching gaze. "Jack." For some reason he wanted nothing more than to bruise the other cheek. Folding his arms across his chest, he lifted his chin and stared back at him.

Will's jaw tensed when he realized he would not be answered. "I must speak with you."

"Is that not what you're doing?"

"Not in the way I would prefer." Hot determination shone in Will's eyes. "There are things to be said that do not require an audience. When you have a moment, I would be grateful if you would share it with me."

Jack sighed. There was no way around it, he knew. When Will had that look in his eye he did not intend to back down, and as stubborn as the man was, he probably wouldn't. "Fine." Before the man could utter a single word further, he turned to look out over his ship at the men below. Several of them were nodding toward him and snickering. Gibbs was chuckling with the two redheaded Irish men. And Cook was grinning up at him. The rest were whispering, nudging each other, and looking generally sneaky—not that _that_ was unusual. In fact, Jack wasn't even sure why their suspicious behavior seemed suspicious. Suspicious it was, however, and he didn't like it.

"You'll find me when you've a moment?"

Jack rolled his eyes and whirled to face him, brows together. "_Yes, Mr. Turner, I will find you_!"

Will didn't flinch. He merely nodded, his gaze sliding from the pirate to the man at his side.

Remembering that there _was_ a man at his side, Jack glanced at him before heading back down the steps. "Yes?" A stranger, he noted. "Who are you?" Startled, he fell back a step, clutching the railing for support. To his dismay, the crew seemed to find the misstep quite a hoot and hollers rang out behind him. Recovering as quickly as possible, he reached for the sword at his hip—the sword that was supposed to be at his hip, he determined with a frown.

The strange man's steps echoed as he took them, and he came to a stop before Jack and held out his hand. "Captain."

Jack stared down at the hand that was stuck at him. The faint scar along the length of the man's index finger, stretched thin by time, he knew. Grabbing Isaac's hand and yanking him close, the breath he'd not realized he'd been holding whooshed out his lungs. A joyous cheer went up amongst the men, but he scarcely heard it for the pump of his heart pulsing in his ears. Caring not that all eyes were on them, he sought Isaac's strong shoulders with his hands, and, squeezing them, drew him closer—unsatisfied with anything less than his chin over the boy's shoulder.

"Easy there," Isaac laughed, clapping him on the back. "I told them they were all mad, but I take it back! You _are_ bloody emotional!"

Jack tsked, frowning at the long glossy hair at his cheek. "They are all mad, and I am bloody emotional and you're not in London and I am entitled to sniffle a bit, I think, and _what_ in the name of the bloody King is this?" He pulled back from the lad and drew a glossy strand out, scowling. "When was your last haircut?"

Isaac snorted. "You're a fine one to talk about haircuts!"

Jack slapped his hand away. "_No one_ is permitted to touch me hair for the rest of the week. Except the wee Turners as they are the only ones who do not pull on it. Tug on it. Or laugh at it." He frowned. "_How_ did you get away with that mop in London?"

"In _London_ I was supposed to wear white wigs that made my scalp itch something terrible."

"And how did you manage to get all that… hair… under a white wig?"

Isaac grinned. "Who said I did?"

Jack grinned back. "I bet the King's advisor had a tizzy."

"Oh," Isaac's face soured, "bloody Fainworth. You'd think he thought _he_ was king." He grinned again. "Hannover and I had him in so many tizzies I don't know how he managed to keep his head."

"He's not French," Jack reminded him.

"There is that."

Watching the reunion between Jack and Isaac was as refreshing as it was disheartening. Will was certainly glad to see Jack smirking and talking with his hands—but he found it difficult to keep his jealousy at bay. Isaac had been an orphan as he'd been an orphan. But Isaac, at nine, had had the great luck to find himself on the _Pearl_ and under the wing of Captain Jack Sparrow—who shortly became the father the boy had grown up without despite their reluctance to admit it. Seeing the two reunite and knowing that he would never have such a chance with his own father…

But that was not the only issue, Will knew.

For as much as he denied it, he had hoped, all those years ago, that the slightly mad and brilliant pirate would take _him_ under his wing. As much as he denied it he had thought that the man who was the closest link he'd ever found to his father had assumed the role somewhat—despite their differences—until Isaac had come along. It had been evident then, when Will had witnessed the pirate's way with the young boy, that Jack Sparrow was, to Will, more friend than father. And as much as he did not want to admit it, it had been yet another disappointment.

Still, he felt ill of himself for the thoughts. Isaac had been but a boy in need and to resent that seemed the mark of an awful individual, an individual who Will could not suffer to live with. He pushed such thoughts and feelings as far from himself as was possible. But there were times when it was difficult. There were times when the inner struggle was too much to bear. Losing one father had hurt. Losing two had been more than troubling.

For what was it that he had done wrong?

"Da?"

Will looked down at Little Lucy, not surprised to see the puzzled look on her face. "What is it, Lucy?"

"Sad?"

"No."

She screwed up her face and gave a vehement shake of her head. "Liar."

He sighed and allowed her to scowl at him.

"Two Untle Jat's?"

Will turned back to the two men below. He'd nearly mistaken Isaac for Jack before but he now marked the many differences between the two. Isaac Faust, for his long years in brisk London, had a fine pallor to his skin much as Jack Sparrow was tan from his basking under the Caribbean sun. He was also taller than the pirate, and thinner, and without the telltale lines of age around his eyes. Of course, Will reasoned, Jack made it difficult to _see_ those lines what with the smudging of kohl around his. There was that Isaac's blue eyes were rounder than Jack's black. And the hair… Will smiled in spite of himself. Jack's hair set him leagues apart from any other man, including Isaac whose hair rivaled his in length only. The brown of Isaac's mane was closer in color to Will's own than Jack's and redder than both. Then there were Isaac's understated clothes and Jack's many rippling layers. Will noted that Isaac had not a single weapon on his person—while Jack had…

Will frowned.

Jack Sparrow was not armed. Neither blade nor pistol had he on his person.

"Da…"

"No, Lucy. Only one Uncle Jack. That man," he said, pointing at Isaac, though he still sought Jack's frame for an indication of some sort that the pirate captain was not as daft as to walk about his pirate ship without at least one weapon, "is Isaac. He's Jack's… well." Will furrowed his brow, finding nothing on Jack's frame. "He's… your cousin."

Little Lucy fell silent, her dark gaze steady on the younger man.

Jack chose that moment to glance their way and, throwing his arm around Isaac with a wide grin, winked up at the little girl.

Little Lucy waved happily back. "Untle Jat. And…" She pursed her tiny lips. "Tussin I-sit?"

"Something like that."

"This lad 'ere—" he gave Isaac a good shaking, nodding from him to the open-mouthed crew—for it wasn't long ago that he'd done the same to a very rich and very captive man while they'd decided his fate was to be one involving quite a few really bad eggs— "left our _Pearl_ behind to go traipsing about _London_. With the _King_ no less!"

Isaac flushed under the scrutiny of the men before them.

"How many years was it?" Jack feigned ignorance, knowing bloody well how many years Isaac had been gone. He'd loathed the emptiness in his belly at night—and not only when it was a night that found one of the three women in charge of the evening meal. "Ten? Fifteen? Seventy nine and three months?"

Isaac sighed. "Six."

"Oh that's right, that's correct." Jack flicked a hand at him. "Six years he stayed away—traipsing about _with the King_ in _London_ in a white wig and silk stockings!" Jack paused for the nervous chuckle that trickled through the ranks of the men aboard and shook his head, sighing sadly. "Veritable pantyhose."

"I didn't—"

"Yes you did!"

"But I didn't!"

"But you did!" Jack poked an accusing finger at him. "And—ye _liked_ it."

"Well," Isaac conceded, nodding sadly, "they were very silky—"

"_That_ does it!" Jack grabbed him and mussed his hair, grinning at the brightening crew. "I say Isaac 'ere needs a _proper_ welcome 'ome, what say you?"

"_Aye_!"

"We'll guzzle the 'ose right out of 'im, aye?"

"_Aye_!"

"We'll gamble the wig right off of 'im, aye?"

"_Aye_!"

"We'll loot the London right out the lad—_what say you_?"

"_Aye_!"

Jack grinned. "Aye, s'what I thought."

While Jack busied himself yapping at Cook, Alice grabbed Isaac and pulled him aside, ignoring the look of pure hellfire in the party planning pirate's eyes and the guilty look on the lad's face. "Oh stop it, I missed you as much as he and therefore am entitled as much as he to your attention!"

Isaac nodded. "You're right."

"Why the long face?"

"I was gone too long."

Alice sighed. "No you weren't, and it's our fault you were gone in the first place." She heard the snort and looked up in time to catch the brunt of Jack's glare. Smiling sweetly, she glanced pointedly down at the hand where the ring glittered on her finger, and winked at the horrified pirate whose frown instantly—albeit rather stiffly—turned upside down. "So," she said, accepting with her other hand the arm Isaac offered and strolling with him past Jack, "tell me, what's this about stockings?"

Isaac flushed. "They _were_ very silky."

The clack and clunk of Jack's hair as he whipped around—to gape at them, she figured. She waved her ringed hand over her shoulder at him in a most fulfilling au revoir. When she was sure that she and Isaac were out of the unhinged captain's line of sight, she smiled smugly, her fingers slipping to smooth over the handle of the sword that Jack had yet to notice at her side.

Above them, Will and Cotton's parrot indulged Little Lucy in a guessing game, pretending not to know what it was she spied. It was a difficult ruse, for her hints made obvious her eye's catch, but Will and Cotton somehow managed to pull it off. The giggling girl had just told them that the "beads, bandana, and gold teeths" she'd spied had been "Untle Jat" when she gasped and clapped her hands excitedly.

Will exchanged a dubious look with Cotton before turning his attention down to his daughter. "What do you see this time?"

"Gold." She shook her head as an afterthought. "Not Untle Jat's teeths!"

"Teeth, Lucy."

"No, Da. Not his teeths."

"Teeth."

She screwed up her face. "Yes okay."

"Say 'Untle Ja—_Uncle Jack's_ teeth'."

"Untle Ja—_Untle Jat's_ teeth…s."

Will sighed. "You see more gold?"

She brightened, nodding. "Yes, more."

"Gold, gold, gold—all you care about is me gold!"

Will looked up at Cotton and his parrot in surprise. The man flushed, squawking companion dancing on his shoulder as he glanced down at his startled Captain. Will watched as Jack shot both an anxious look in Alice Witter's direction and a glare up at Cotton before easing back into his discussion—which Will was sure was party planning—with Cook. Catching Cotton's sparkling eye, Will smiled.

"Gold—etting."

"Etting?"

Little Lucy bit her lip. "Et… handle," she finished proudly.

Will frowned, puzzling over the clues. He glanced up at Cotton, wondering if the man had figured it out, but his shrug told him that he hadn't either. _Etting… _Then, his gaze narrowed on Jack, searching for the sword he'd obviously missed. "Gold etching—on a handle?"

"Yes aye."

"Uncle Jack's sword," he guessed, turning back to his little girl, who sighed and pointed her finger. Following the direction and still unable to spot it, he frowned. "But I don't see what you are pointing at."

"Pretty Liar," she said, pointing at Alice Witter.

"It isn't nice to call someone a liar," Will pointed out.

"Truth hurt."

Will glared down at the woman, studying her small frame for what it had been that had caught his daughter's eye. "Where?"

"In her stirt," Little Lucy whispered.

"Skirt," he corrected, finding the glint of gold under the woman's hand as soon as the girl clarified. A growl rose in his throat as he recognized it. "It _is_ Jack's sword," he growled. The sight brought his blood to a boil. His anger sunk fast in his stomach, though, and he found himself suddenly weary. If the pirate had passed off his gift, did it mean that he had tossed his friendship to the wind as well? "It is simply not Jack who _has_ it."

"_Trouble in the water_," Cotton's parrot squawked.

Below, Will's son did not heed that warning. Jack Turner trailed after the woman he knew and the young man he didn't know. He'd found out that the man's name was Isaac and that he had been in London for six years with the King. There had been something about wigs and stockings, but he had decided that those were things he had no desire to know about. The fondness his Uncle and the Ice Queen—a name by which he must remember not to call Miss Witter as he'd been instructed on more than one occasion of its impropriety—seemed to have for the man with the sharp accent, however, had him curious.

Snippets of conversation were all he was able to hear as he darted in the afternoon shadows behind the two. Frustrating though it was, Jack bit his tongue. He was near bursting when Isaac spun around, drawing a rather dangerous looking dagger from the sleeve of his shirt. Poised to strike, the man frowned at the empty air.

Jack, not happy about the reminder that he was yet to grow tall, scowled and crossed his arms. "Down here."

Isaac looked down at him and lowered the weapon, lifting a brow. "So you are."

"How'd you do that? With the dagger."

"Pirate trick."

"You don't look like a pirate," Jack pointed out.

"You don't look like a pirate either."

"I'm not the one claiming to pull pirate's tricks."

"No but you did sneak up on us," Isaac pointed out. "That's a trick of the pirate trade as well."

Jack shrugged.

"Tell you what." Isaac's blue eyes smiled at him as he knelt. "I've a proposition for you, young Jack. I'll tell you about my pirate trick, if you first tell me about yours. Have we an accord?"

"Aye, we do," Jack agreed, shaking on it. "Nothin to it! The trick's in the shadows. Brighter it is, better shadows there are! Specially on a ship. Nighttime's easy, o'course, because it's dark to begin with."

"That's all?"

"Well I'm real fast and quiet but I thought that would be a given."

"Are you insinuating that I'm slightly slow on the uptake?"

"I don't _insinuate_." Jack wrinkled his nose. "You _were_ in London too long."

Isaac laughed. "Perhaps so. Now, my pirate trick's right easy. See, all there is to it is a leather cuff under my sleeve. It buckles around my arm." He rolled his sleeve back to reveal the buckled cuff and pointed at the leather sheath. "Dagger goes in there, and all I've to do if I need it is resort to the trick up my sleeve."

Jack raised his brows, impressed. "That's ace."

"No, but that's another good thing to have up your sleeve."

Jack had tagged along on their walk about the ship, despite the anxiety he felt whenever the Ice Queen—_Miss Witter_—looked his way. Being turned into an icicle by the woman's grey gaze, as he'd heard happened to many less fortunate men, was not something that he wanted to accomplish at his young age. But he did want to find out more about Isaac and so he had braved the consequences.

"What's the King like?"

"Hannover? He's a rip, that one."

Isaac had been easy enough to talk to, and had even indulged Jack in his wish to stand on the railing and look out over the water at the brightly colored fish swimming far below. It was a kindness Jack would not forget—save for when dealing with his parents of course. They, he had decided, need not know about the details of his day. Though the fish were so pretty it seemed a shame to keep it to himself, he thought, staring down at a school of red, white spotted beauties.

"How do you know him?"

"It's a secret."

"Nothing's a secret on the _Black Pearl_," Jack argued with a smirk. "When I'm on it!"

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing!" Jack glanced at the woman to ensure his safety from a freezing fate. Finding her eyes narrowing on him, his own widened and he turned quickly to Isaac. "Do you know how to climb the rigging?"


	14. Sail Sliding

Elizabeth had woke to the sound of cheer above deck, and as she'd opened her eyes she found an empty cabin—and most of all, an empty spot on the cot beside her where Will should have been—and it struck her. She'd thought she'd shed all of her tears, but swiftly they'd stung her eyes once more. Alone on the lumpy mattress she wept until her eyes hurt. She dabbed them with a handkerchief, remembering the strange suffocation she'd suffered only hours ago. She remembered the chaos in her ears and the terror that clawed her throat. Sniffling, she remembered Will's accusations. And when the door swung open she hurled a piece of Jack Sparrow's finest china at her husband's head.

The plate smacked the hard frame of the door and shattered red and white porcelain pieces to the floor.

Elizabeth gasped, hands to her mouth, when she saw Little Lucy, in Will's arms, staring with wide eyes at her. Her daughter's lip wavered and she shot forward, grabbing her from Will and pressing reassuring kisses to her hair. Little Lucy buried her face in her neck and Elizabeth's heart sank when she felt the little girl's tears on her skin.

"Elizabeth—"

"Shut up," she hissed at Will, smoothing her daughter's silky hair with gentle fingertips. "Look what you've done!"

Both of them looked down at the remnants of Jack's china—that she'd thrown. Her face flushed. Will's brows knit in confusion, and when he looked up at her, Elizabeth forced an accusatory look on her face. She lifted her chin and hmphed for good measure.

"Elizabeth—"

"I don't want to hear it," she said, robe snapping as she turned her back on him, "so just leave."

"But I—"

"Go!" She closed her eyes, hoping with all her heart that he would not. Blindly, she wished for his strong hands on her shoulders, turning her around, gripping her while he looked into her eyes to tell her that he would not. Aching for him to deny her request, she waited. And when she heard the door shut behind her, Little Lucy's sobs were not the only ones quaking the silence of the room.

Will sighed, shutting the door behind him. Seeing that Jack had carelessly tossed their friendship to the wind was bad enough, but Elizabeth's refusal to acknowledge his presence, despite his apologies, was worse. Gathering his strength, he stood there, until he found the determination to move. His wife had told him to leave, and he would.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Wot's it?" Cook took off his spectacles and rubbed them clean with his shirt. He sighed, putting them back on and eyeing the list of preparations Jack had quickly transcribed for him. He shook his head. "I've not enough hands to make wot all you're askin for, Captain."

"Mate, I'm not asking for much."

The thin scroll of paper unrolled itself, the bottom stopping just short of touching the deck, and Cook blinked.

Jack winced.

"I've hands to help."

Both men turned to the woman who was walking towards them. They froze upon seeing it was Anamaria who'd offered, the two of them paling at the thought. "_No!_"

"Fine!" The woman glared at Jack. "I'll be leavin now."

Jack sighed, watching her turn on her heel and storm toward the steps, walking into Gibbs and wrestling the man aside. The stumbling sailor righted himself and stomped the rest of the way over to them. Muttering curses under his breath, he took out his flask and slugged a good deal of what smelled like—Jack frowned at it. The smell was gone as quick as the cap was back on and it was tucked back in the man's vest.

"She offer to cook again?"

Jack and Cook nodded mournfully. Gibbs winced, and Cook began to cant warnings at Jack, but the pirate captain was already on Anamaria's heels. "But you can't leave, love. Not yet!"

"I can leave whenever I want to leave and whenever's now."

Jack frowned, watching the woman huff down the steps. He'd not been prepared for such a reaction to his refusal of her offer, and he'd most certainly not been prepared to see the woman off before the party. Anamaria had spat at him, spat on him, yanked him across the deck of his own ship by his ear, slapped him—a lot—and called him by a variety of uncomplimentary names. One of his dearest friends, she was, and having vexed her—though, he figured, they were even for the stunt involving a vat of molasses and a bag of feathers that she'd tried to pull on the way to Port Royal—with what he knew was quite enough, he wished she would stay to enjoy the eve at the very least.

"Please stay?"

"No! It ain't my business!"

"What?" On her heels, he pushed her gently into the first level corridor and shook his head. "What are you talking about?" When she pushed past him, he followed her down the hall and into the cabin that had always been hers—even when she wasn't aboard. It looked the same as it always had. Save for the young pirate—tan shoulders peeking out over the sheet draped around him—sitting on the bed, that is. Jack arched a brow at him. "Roth."

A flush rose into the young man's cheeks. "Cap'n Sparrow."

"Roth's comin with me," Anamaria snapped, shoving a bound journal in her pack. "To my ship."

"What?" Jack glared at her. "Since when?"

"Since I had to steer this ship back to Tortuga to pick up yer Ice Princess."

"Ice Queen," he amended. "And mine she's not."

Anamaria snorted.

"She's not!"

"Fine, she ain't yers. Point is, I didn't agree to this nonsense, I didn't agree to snaggin yer nag—"

"—my nag?!"

"Ya prefer hag?"

"Hag, nag." Jack shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, love. Might matter to the old bag though so I wouldn't let her hear you callin her either, or, and even as well."

Anamaria's brow furrowed. "As I was sayin—Isaac has never much liked me." Her dark eyes met his. "Ya know it, Jack Sparrow. It's why ya had _Celamar_ built, remember?" She had him, there, of course. As a young man Isaac hadn't taken well to the idea of his captain's friendship with a woman other than Alice Witter. "Aye, ya do."

"Anamaria, I—"

"It ain't nothin, Sparrow," she said, punching him lightly in the arm. "Ya know I love that ship—and planned on soon takin my own when it was ya took me to her. But I gotta get her back out there, ya fool. I gotta get me crew back fore I lose 'em to another ship, Jack! They're good men. I don't wanna lose 'em."

"Oh but you'll take two of my best!"

"One—"

"Two as it includes you, love."

"Jack."

"Anamaria," he said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. "Stay."

"Can I help Cook?"

From somewhere in the ship came the sound of smashing china.

"Shhh…not too loud," he warned, wincing. "I'm not looking for another mutiny…" Finding Anamaria glaring at him, he cleared his throat and nodded resolutely. "Which is why we mustn't deprive the men of your epicurean expertise. Off to the galley you go," he said, pushing her out the door. Fretting for the fate of their feast, he made a quick sign of the cross and shook his head at a wide-eyed Roth. "May the heavens help us."

"An' our bellies," Roth agreed with a grimace.

After ensuring Roth knew by way of no uncertain terms—as he'd growled certain terms quite clearly—that clothing was necessary upon his ship, Jack remembered his missing sword. He'd had it when Alice led he and the wee Turner from his quarters. Or had he? Jack frowned, as the unpleasant thought occurred to him that perhaps he had not. Had it. The sword. In fact, thinking about it led him to believe that he had not even touched the sword since slamming it down—and effectively away from himself—the eve of the worst trouble. It had been a move that's memory caused him to cringe for its melodrama.

_"Bloody sword," he growled into his pillow._

_Jack Turner's appearance had shaken him from his resolve to stick his face in a pillow and refuse to breathe. Not only that, but now everything that had felt numb before had turned right sensitive. The sword that hadn't mattered was jabbing hard into his hip and suddenly it mattered again._

_Jumping up, he yanked the thing from its scabbard—Will Turner knew just the right make, didn't he?—and glared at it. "You're no consolation," he told it. "Bloody bribe, is it? 'Consider it consolation, Jack. Consider it consolation.' For what? For losing sight of our friendship? Well I'm a pirate, aye, yes, yes, yes Will Turner, yes I am a bloody 'Pirate'. But I'm sorry, son. This bribe, this one, no non nee nein." Then he had slammed it down. "I don't accept!" _

In his defense, he'd been accused of one of the most heinous—and that was saying something, really honestly saying something for the list of his crimes was long and some were, admittedly, heinously heinous—crimes he had not committed by someone he'd thought was his friend—best friend no less, but then he was rather accustomed to strange, ironic twists of that nature—at the time. It wasn't as if he'd been able to think clearly. He'd been too miserable thinking about all of the things he didn't like to think about, before Little Lucy showed up. And then, the dreams came even after she'd made him feel better, and…

Jack was standing at the door to the Turner cabin. Like Anamaria's, it was the one that the family he'd hoped he was a part of shared each time they stayed aboard the Pearl. But he had followed her, and finding himself standing outside Will's door he did not know how exactly he had managed to get himself there. Well, he'd walked—obviously—but he hadn't thought about it first. His feet must have simply… carried him. Not that they didn't do that on a consistent basis. Just not without his guided purpose, really. Not without…

He scowled.

Captain Jack Sparrow, he remembered, did not stall and stammer. Not even in his head. If Will Turner wanted to talk, they would talk. Their moment, he decided as he flung open the door, was now.

An unidentifiable flying object whizzed past his ear over his shoulder. When it smashed, he knew from the tinkling sound that it had been glass, and lots of it. And whatever it was had been hurled at his head. Curious, he glanced over his shoulder. Eyeing the flowers no one was supposed to know about, he deduced that the object was the flower vase—well, what had once been the flower vase, more likely. Pity. The thing was slivers and shards now.

"That was my favorite vase," he said sadly. Then he raised his brows at the wide-eyed Elizabeth, who save for her sleeping daughter was alone, and parked a hand on his hip. "Expecting dear William, were you?"

"You're just as well," she grit, recovering from what had been apparent shock to see him. "Both of you deserving the same what with the way you've been acting."

He frowned. "Well unless I'm mistaken, I am not the one who accused the two of us of things I consider dastardly, depraved, and dissolute—unequivocably so, in fact, I might add—even for me."

Elizabeth's brown eyes wavered.

When she rushed at him, he fell backwards, half into the hallway. Relieved to see not a single soul bearing witness, he pushed her gently back into the room and shut the door behind them. "Oh, Elizabeth. You're crying," he realized, rolling his eyes heavenward with a silent prayer asking that she stop. Soon, if not now. "There there dear, it's alright. No need to give Captain Jack a bath, now. Really, love. Just had one. Last week?" He frowned. "No, not last week. Week before perhaps, but… Stop… sobbing, please. Elizabeth? Please stop?" She wasn't stopping, he thought, rubbing her back. "Alright, woman," he surrendered with a sigh. "Soak my shirt if ye please."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Climbing the rigging had been easy, Jack Turner decided. He'd scurried right up. Isaac hadn't had to boost him. Well, Isaac had been quite upset at first, shouting at him to slow down and eventually shooting up the mast after him with Miss Witter shouting after _him_ to slow down. But that was soon to be forgotten when the two who'd been shouted at were looking out over the lagoon—and beyond it to the Caribbean Sea whose blue green water trapped the high sun's golden light and splendor to her. So magnificent it looked that Jack could not look away.

When he was finally able, he saw that Isaac had the same trouble. "I've missed it," the man said softly, hand tightening around a rope. His blue eyes filled with the sight and he smiled at Jack. Jack smiled too, and let Isaac ruffle his hair. "Now. I'll teach you a trick Jack once taught me." He turned serious. "But you must never do it."

"What?" Jack squinted up at him. "Then why show me if I must not do it?"

"Because." Isaac sighed. "You may have to some day."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"What is wrong with him, Jack?"

Jack sighed, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to the woman who'd indeed soaked his shirt in tears. Elizabeth blew her nose, honking into the scrap, and handed it back to him. The wad of linen was warm in his hand and Jack winced, shoving it quickly back to his pocket. Thinking about its sudden soiling wrinkled his nose and he yanked it back out and tossed it, with a grimace, over his shoulder.

Elizabeth clung to him with clammy hands, her face pressed to his sopping chest as she sniffled. "We've not had much time for each other in the recent past, but…" She turned sad eyes up at him. "Why would he think such things, Jack?"

"You've got me, love." He shrugged. "I mean, I know I'm rather charming. Handsomely so, if I may say so meself. And of course there's that I'm dashing. _Daring_. And—" Jack broke off with a wide grin, "well, blindingly brilliant!"

"Oh yes," she agreed, pulling away at long last and folding her arms. "But you've forgotten 'humble'."

"No I haven't." He winked at her. "I was only just getting there."

She arched a brow. "I don't think you will ever get to that point."

"Let's hope not, Elizabeth."

Mrs. Turner opened her mouth, but she didn't say anything. Jack frowned, and they looked up at the beamed ceiling together. Above them boots stampeded over planks, and Jack was nearly sure he'd heard someone—with a distinct proper clip to their voice—holler an all too enthusiastic "_woohoo_".

Woohoo, Jack had found out in the past, was really not a good word to hear. Ever. Especially aboard his ship. Nodding politely to Elizabeth, he kissed her hand and exited the cabin, shutting the door gently behind him. As soon as his heel struck the hall, however, he hurtled down it and up the steps, pushing a sheet-clad Roth out of his way. Material clutched in his fist, he glanced over his shoulder and winced, tossing the sheet back at the man. "Sorry." On second thought, he stopped, glared, and pointed a finger at the scrambling man. "What did I say?"

Roth flushed. "No bare bottoms."

Jack nodded. A second and much more enthusiastic "_woohoo_" followed by an all too familiar screech, however, cut short the speech he was about to make about the importance of not being caught out of your stitches. He winced and shot up the rest of the stairs.

The first thing he saw was Alice Witter, face pale, opening her mouth to scream again. "Why are you screeching?" He grabbed her hand and tugged her along with him, between the men who ran back and forth between the masts of his ship. "What's the trouble?"

"Sail-sliding!"

Jack sighed and looked up at the rigging. "I was afraid of that." He watched as Isaac grabbed hold of the top of a sail, flipped himself over, and dove face-first down the rippling thing to grab onto the yard below and right himself, barely pausing before sliding fast down the next sail to land next to a jumpy Jack Turner. He cupped his hands 'round his mouth, ready to shout, when Alice shrieked. He jumped and whirled to glare at her. "Will you stop screeching, woman?"

"Then get up there!" Frantic, she grabbed his shoulders and whirled him toward the mast. "Stop them!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

With all the commotion on deck, it was surprisingly easy to lower the longboat into the lagoon unnoticed, Will realized. Not one pirate was looking his way, and he hoped, as he sat in the thing and it went slowly over the side of the ship, that they would continue to be as enthralled as they seemed in whatever was going on in the rigging. Frowning up at it himself, the boat was in the water when he recognized Isaac Faust sliding on one of the Black Pearl's huge sails.

"Well you've made Jack proud," he muttered, turning his back on the scene above. He picked up the oars, hopeful that Isaac Faust kept showing off. If he kept the attention of the crew, Will would not attract it with his departure.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Isaac landed on the yard next to Jack with a thump and Jack, startled by the other's sudden appearance, jumped. He was grateful for the strong hands that steadied him so that he would not fall and he laughed breathlessly, thrilled that he'd picked up Isaac's trick with the greatest of ease. He had always thought that the big sails of a ship looked most useful for sliding on, but he had never dreamed of attempting it. As it turned out, there was next to nothing to it.

From the yard above, one of the two of them would jump, bum sliding against the sail, to the next yard down. Then the other would jump, sliding down the other side, until both of them were standing braced on the yard breathless and bright-eyed. When Isaac had been certain that Jack had the hang of it, they had slid from sail to sail, leapt from yard to yard, and swung on two ropes from the front mast to the rear.

"Uncle Jack taught you to slide on sails?" Jack watched Isaac slide down another sail and quickly followed suit, feet touching down lightly. He grinned. "So he does this?"

"When he has to," Isaac shrugged. "He is getting old though…"

"Getting _old_?" The pirate on the next yard over glared at them. Captain Jack Sparrow had snuck up the rigging after them, and stood there with his hands on his hips. "Now. That's rather insulting. And hardly true. You see," he said, tapping air with a fingertip, "If I was getting old I imagine I'd not be able to do this."

Grabbing a rope, the pirate captain swung over and up, landing easily two yards above the boys. Not missing a beat, he slid backwards down the topsail, grabbed the yard below it, and flipped to his feet. Like a cat he sprang up and like a swan he dove against the next sail, snatching Jack, who flushed for his sudden surprised squeak, around the waist before grabbing another rope and swinging wide to the yard he'd started on.

There was a smattering of applause and whooping below and the pirate looked pleased. "So it seems, Isaac, that there's a spring in my step yet, dear boy. These knees are good for quite a few more knocks." His grin grew. "Not to mention I'd wager hat-tippingly high bets on the sprightly swerve of my hips."

"Sprightly is it?"

"So I've been told. But don't take a woman's word for it," the pirate shouted back, hurling the rope at Isaac as he grabbed another. "Why don't you try to keep up?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"No," he called over his shoulder, putting a foot forward off the yard, "it's a dare!"

"Uncle Jack, what are you do—" Jack broke off, screaming as the two of them hurtled through the air. Vaguely, he heard outraged shrieks below. "Ice Queen's screamin," he shouted. They landed with a soft thud against a sail. His eyes grew wide when he felt the pirate's grip on his ankle yank him into a slide down the next. When his feet settled on the wood, he looked up to find his Uncle's scowl, and he paled.

"Who's screaming?"

"Miss Witter."

"Aye, that's what I thought you said." The captain frowned and looked between their feet to the deck below where the woman turned frantic circles around the masts. He shrugged. "She'll get over it."

"_I will not_!"

Captain Jack Sparrow ducked as a heeled shoe hurtled at his head. He grabbed it and dropped it below. "_Are you _trying_ to knock our blocks off_?"

"No," shouted a breathless Isaac Faust, hauling himself up to the yard below the one they stood on, "she is trying to stall you so that _I_ might catch up."

The pirate cussed and, before he knew what was happening, Jack found himself being flipped through the air to the topsail of the mizzenmast, stomach curdling at the sight of the sparkling water far below past the stern of the Black Pearl. Bum sliding halfway down the sail, his fear turned to sheer panic when he felt his Uncle leap off of the yard below. With his hand firm in the pirate's, he went flying head over heels as well. They slid fast down the black sail together, landing on their feet at the same time.

"Hold on," Captain Jack Sparrow said, wrapping an arm around Jack's waist and grabbing hold of a rope. "This'll be quite a dive."

They dove, and a scream ripped from Jack's throat. The deck of the ship loomed below them, gleaming bright under the hot sun. Jack was sure that at any moment they would plummet right through the wood. But they didn't. The rope went taut and they swung neatly over to the bottom of the mainmast where his Uncle easily dropped them to their feet. Grinning, they both turned to look up at a stunned Isaac braced above the crow's nest.

"_You cheated_!"

"_Pirate_," the captain called up to him, much to the delight of the crewmen.

"_Jack Sparrow_!" Miss Witter's screech carried over the booming laughter. "_I'll knock your block off_!"

"Lad?"

"Uncle Jack?"

"Don't _ever_ climb that rigging again," he barked, brows together. Then he glanced over his shoulder and winced, patting him on the shoulder. "That's all. Got to run!"

Jack watched as the pirate took off, arms flailing, across the deck of the ship with the Ice Queen—Miss Witter—on his tail. Feeling quite at home, he laughed with the rest of the crew and wished that his father were standing there with him. Not for the first time he wondered where the man could have gotten to. Evidently he had not heard the commotion that was his son's first bit of sail-sliding.

Although that was probably a good thing, Jack mused, grinning up at Isaac Faust who'd patted his head.

"_Jack Turner_!"

His grin faded. Eyes wide, he tore across the deck, passing his Uncle, and the Ice Queen chasing him, on the way. Jack's father may have missed the occasion, but apparently his mother had witnessed the entire thing.


	15. Too Much Merriment

As gold and crimson streaks blushed the setting sun, so began the merriment aboard the Black Pearl. The ship itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the guest of honor strolled alongside the captain. Both men were silent save for Jack's soft hum. Several of the pirates had brought out their musical instruments for the occasion, much to his enjoyment and the enjoyment of the rest of the men. And women. Leading the tune was the beat of Marty's bongos and rising above to pick at the very air around them were the intermingling melodies of the two celtic flutes. The redheaded Irishmen may have been twins but their songs varied, one catching the other's at its low with a high of its own and drawing it out for a tussle against the sigh of Alice's strings. Jack smiled at her as he passed, pleased that he'd talked her into playing the violin that night.

The music was most delightful, he decided, pausing with Isaac to listen to it. They leaned against his door, both eyeing suspiciously the blur that streaked past them. It was the second time that young Turner—who'd been identified by his glinting eyes and rather modest height—had sped past them. Raising brows after the lad, Jack shook his head at a smirking Isaac, shrugged, and surveyed the deck before him. Quite a few of the men had brought out decks of playing cards and had seated themselves in groups around the tables they'd set up. Twice as many were rolling dice, and near all of them wore a grin or a smile.

Cotton was heading up a game of Hazard not far from where Jack stood. "Six and forty-two," the prancing parrot squawked the stakes. "Six and forty-two!" Gibbs called a main of seven. He rolled a rotten twelve to it, and lost out his chance at the stakes. The game was up to Tearlach, who nicked his call of five with another roll of five. The stakes were his. "Winners don't lose," quipped the parrot. "Losers don't win."

Jack arched a brow. "That the rum talking, Mr. Cotton?"

"But why is the rum gone?"

Isaac laughed. "Will they ever let you forget?"

"I doubt it."

"Where is Elizabeth?"

"As far from the rum as I could put her."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The bottle of rum that Jack had sent Elizabeth sat untouched on the small table. Bright light of the sinking sun cast its golden rays upon it, sparking the amber liquid inside aglow. Sighing, she gathered up her skirts and crossed the room to pick it up. She'd allowed her children to join the party at Jack's request but had declined the offer herself in favor of sitting by her lonesome wishing that things were not as bad as they seemed. The pirate must have understood, for he had not sent for her but sent the bottle to her with a folded note. She picked it up and flipped it open to read the loopy scrawl.

_Some of my finest. For consumption purposes only. _

"Really Jack, will you ever let me forget?" Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Burning the rum might have been practical then but at _this point_ consumption is more than necessary." She sighed and uncorked the bottle. "Strange that one man is enough to drive a woman to that same point time and time again."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack watched Gibbs lose another round of the dice game and shook his head. "If it weren't for bad luck, I don't think Gibbs would have any luck at all."

"Aye Cap'n, when you're right you're right," grumbled the sailor in passing.

"And I _am_ right." Jack frowned, marveling again at the sight of the man that had replaced the shaky boy he'd known. "Are you hungry? You look it. Didn't they feed you in London?"

"They tried," Isaac said, allowing the captain to usher him away from the gambling and toward the bountiful buffet. "But as it turns out, the best chef in London's the worst chef in the world."

Jack winced, remembering his own beef with the preparing of it in old England, and looked down at the table.

Stacks of fine china waited, and Jack was pleased to see that Cook had even set out the fluted bowls. A crock of soup steamed beside them. Ironstone trays offered an array of fresh fruit and vegetables—a scarcity aboard pirate ships that Jack had insisted upon having on his as much as was possible. Shiny oranges surrounded bunches of succulent red grapes, piles of bananas, and a bowl of brightly colored berries. Blossoms of broccoli and cauliflower bloomed among a ring of olive buds topping sticks of carrot, celery, and green pepper. And loaves of crusty bread and fresh rolls were piled amidst the silver platters and pans presenting a variety of prepared foods.

"Captain," Cook said, his voice grave, as he stepped up to offer a plate. "Bon appetit."

Jack accepted it with a frown and eyed the Cook, who smiled stiffly at him. Shrugging, he turned to Isaac with the plate, only to find him already helping himself. Arching a brow, he set to heaping food onto the plate. "Celery!" Jack grinned at Cook. "French celery, if I remember correctly."

"Aye." Cook nodded. "French it is, and the olives Spanish and the bananas Cubano." He adjusted his spectacles and nodded down at the cauliflower. "Don't know where that's come from, though."

"Cyprus." He ignored Cook's raised brows and munched decidedly on a stick of celery. "Aye, as I remember, it's _Cyprus colewarts_." His lip curled in disgust. "Sounds like a disease."

"Speaking of disease…"

Jack paused in the slapping of mashed potatoes to his plate and frowned at the dish Isaac was staring at. Unlike the majority of the offerings, this one was still largely in tact as the men had passed it by. Lumps of orange stuck in a sticky brown sauce elicited a gasp from him. "My yams?" He raised tearful eyes up to a flushing Cook and swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat. "My yams!" The man's gaze behind the glasses darted toward the woman lurking nearby. Jack's brows snapped together. "You let her prepare _my yams_?!"

Cook offered him a nervous smile and an overflowing ladle. "Gravy?"

Isaac looked from Jack and Cook to Anamaria, whose eyes narrowed on him, to the spoon of yucky yams he held at length. "You let her in the galley," he hissed through his teeth to Jack, eyeing the sticky mess. Quickly, he plopped the spoonful onto the gaping captain's plate. "So you enjoy the spoils!"

"That's rotten," Jack grumbled, wincing at the sight of it.

"Aye, I think you're right," Isaac said, wrinkling his nose.

Quickly, the two of them raised their heads and nodded, smiling brightly at the woman who brightened and smiled back.

"I tried to stop her," Cook hissed behind his own smile. "She wosn't havin none of it."

"Which is fitting," Jack said, casting an accusing eye on the ruined and rotten yams on his plate, "considering we'll be havin none of it as well."

It was some time later, as he was about to ditch the plate and its uneaten yams, that Jack found Anamaria at his side. Warily, he followed her gaze down to the remaining food on his plate. Unable to look at them for very long as it brought tears to his eyes, his gaze shot back to hers, and he groaned inwardly at the hurt plain to see in her eyes. Outwardly, he smiled brightly, spearing one of the sticky orange lumps and lifting it to his mouth. "Saving the best for last," he told her, biting it off the fork.

To his dismay, the woman waited for his reaction, and he chewed. The rancid bit in his mouth rose tears to his eyes, and he blinked furiously to be rid of them. The tragedy of eating the yams was hard to swallow. He gulped and forced another smile to his face. "Delicious!"

Anamaria nodded. "I knew you'd like them." Patting his arm, she walked away.

Eyes wide, Jack handed his plate off to a pale-faced Cook. "Drink. Hurry!" When the goblet was shoved in his hand, he smacked it to his lips and gulped its contents, shooting the spectacled man a grateful glance over the rim.

"I know." Cook nodded, sympathetic. "She made me test em."

"Tragic," Jack shuddered, wincing as his belly protested the terrible intrusion of the rotten sweet potatoes. He foisted the goblet at Cook. "Quickly!" When it was returned to him, he drank the fiery liquid down. Gasping, he shook his head and cringed, thrusting the goblet at the man once more. The third did its trick, and he was thankful for the burn that overtook the unrest of his suffering stomach. Closing his eyes, he handed the goblet back and waited. With the fourth in his hand, he sighed contentedly and took an easier and much more enjoyable swig of the stuff.

"Captain?"

Groaning, he opened his eyes, followed Cook's gaze, and saw Little Lucy reaching for Gibbs' mug. The sailor, wrapped up in a game of cards, paid the little girl no heed as she stood on her tiptoes and stretched out her arm. Grumbling, Jack raced across the deck and grabbed the girl up 'fore her fingers reached the handle. The surprised men stared up at them, and Jack glared down at them in return. "Gibbs, mind your mug!"

Gibbs, flushing guiltily, pulled his mug in front of him. "Aye, Cap'n."

"As for you," Jack said, turning to look at the wide-eyed little girl, "it's mighty mean to take a man's mug, little love."

"Thirsty," she whispered, lip wavering.

Wincing, he nodded, the memory of the yucky yams still painfully fresh in his mind. "I know the feeling. We shall get you a cup of juice." He grabbed the shoulder of the blur racing past that he was sure was Jack Turner and nodded down at the boy. "And you, young Mister Turner, shall join us."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Elizabeth sighed, once again rolling over on her side. For several silent moments she stared at the door in hopes that her husband would walk through it with a sincere apology, and then her gaze fell upon the near-full bottle of rum. She'd only sipped it, fearing Will's reaction should he suddenly return to her. Suddenly, staring at the fine liquid fire she craved, her fear fell away. Elizabeth jumped up, crossed the room, and grabbed the bottle.

"I will not be one of those women," she said, shaking the bottle by its neck, "who lives in fear of her husband's reactions!"

When she drank, she drank greedily, and when she stopped, her eyes burned with tears.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

At some point, Jack had convinced the children to join him at the card table and stay there. Little Lucy sat happily in his lap, her little fingers thoroughly examining every odd bit in his hair as if she'd never seen them before. And young Jack seemed more than happy to join a group of poker playing pirates, golden eyes gleaming at every single man—and woman, as Anamaria had pitched her own purse in—with cards in hand. The pirates themselves grinned back, played the game, and seemed as content as the children. Pleased that the plan had been a profitable one as he'd also procured plenty of the profits—quickly gleaning quite a gleaming of gold—Jack sat back in his chair and grinned.

"Hey Uncle Jack," the boy piped up as Gibbs shuffled the cards, "you're winning!"

"Of course I'm winning, lad." Jack paused to pluck a gleaming piece of eight from the pile and chuck it in the center, indicating to Gibbs that he was indeed in for the next round. He picked up the cards he was dealt and gave them a glance before winking at the boy. "Was there ever any doubt?"

A collective murmur of mockery went around the table, and the pirate captain narrowed his eyes at them, each one ducking behind their hand of cards as he did so. Isaac, across from him, however, clucked his tongue quite loudly and made a show of a slow eye roll. Anamaria's snort drew Jack's glare to her smirk. Her hand of cards abruptly flew up to cover her mouth, but her dark eyes sparkled at him over the fan of red and white. He couldn't help but flick his brows at her, and when she arched hers, he brought his own cards to his lips to mask his smile and fluttered them between his fingers.

"Oh Jack." Anamaria chuckled. "If ya could just see yerself."

He winked at her over the fan of them. "I imagine it's quite an image to behold."

"Oh ye're right about that," she said, tossing her own piece of eight in to the pot, "ain't he Isaac?"

It was Isaac's turn to snort as he waggled his own fan of cards in front of his mouth. "Looking your loveliest, Captain," he trilled in a falsetto, fluttering his lashes at Jack. "What _shade_ is that on your eyes? I simply _must_ have it so that all the handsomest pirates will wish to pillage me!"

The five other men at the table chuckled and chortled as Anamaria snickered.

Jack scowled. "I'll have you know that this kohl refracts light so that the glare of the sun glinting off the water—"

"does not impair my vision," Isaac finished, grinning.

"Exactly."

"Hides wrinkles too," young Jack offered, smiling innocently up at his Uncle as the scowl turned down on him.

"Untle Jat," Little Lucy said, her little hands on both sides of his face. She drew close and examined his eyes, drawing his gaze to hers. A tiny smile lifted her tiny lips. "Gots lots of wrinkles."

The pirates laughed outright, Anamaria cackling the loudest.

Jack sighed. "That wasn't very nice," he pointed out, patting the girl's head with his cardless hand.

"Truth hurt."

"On with the game," Marty demanded, tossing coins into the middle. "I bet two crowns."

Shrugging, each of them tossed two crowns in to match the bet. Jack caught the lad eyeing his cards and arched a brow at him, tossing in another two crowns on top of his match. "Raise ye two crowns more."

Gibbs sighed, laying his cards on the table. "Foldin."

"Aye," Tearlach echoed.

Cotton's parrot squawked the same as Anamaria, Marty, and Isaac added two more crowns to their bets. Isaac smiled and added a stack of gold to his bet. "And I raise it ten guineas. You call?"

Marty scowled. He laid his cards on the table. Jack and Anamaria eyed each other as they met the bet, and Isaac raised his brows.

"Done!" Gibbs slapped the table. "What's ye got?"

Isaac laid out his cards, the four Kings eliciting a sigh from Anamaria who turned over her own cards to reveal three Queens and two red tens—a full house, and a royal one at that, but not good enough to beat four of a kind. She folded her arms over her chest and looked to Jack with the rest of the table. He sighed and snapped his cards on the table. "Four Aces."

Isaac shook his head. "How do you do it?"

"Son…" Jack grinned, sweeping his winnings from the middle with a cupped palm. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!" Leaning back and glancing deftly at his sleeve, he winked across the table at him. "Savvy?"

"I want to play."

Jack spun in his seat. He found Alice Witter behind him.

"Pairs. Gibbs and Marty, Cotton and Tearlach, Ana and _you_, and Isaac and _I_." She treated him to a sweet smile. "What do you say, Captain Jack Sparrow?"

Her pointed—albeit quick—glance at his gold was not lost on him and his eyes narrowed. Of course, her pointed—albeit quick—glance to the ring on her finger was also not lost on him, and he smiled pleasantly back at her. "Well, Miss Witter. I simply could not decline such a delightful proposal."

Her eyes widened.

Jack smirked.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Why it's rather dark in here," Elizabeth said, squinting against the darkness. The only light was that of the silvery moon filtering through the porthole and it was not very bright. Only a few beams shone in, and it was not enough to illuminate much of anything, save for the sheen of the glass bottle in her hand. Lifting it, she frowned. "Half empty already?"

Shrugging, she brought it to her lips, choking when her grip slipped. She grasped for it but not before the amber liquid sloshed too fast to her mouth. It dripped down her chin and ran onto her neck. Elizabeth sat up, gasping as the rum soaked her bodice. "Oh dear," she giggled, looking down at her glistening bosom, "I simply can not hold my liquor."

The bottle clutched in her hands, however, proved that theory wrong and she took another long drink of it, not surprised to feel another slosh against her skin. "Well, I suppose rum _is_ a fine perfume on a pirate ship."

Rising slowly to her feet, Elizabeth blinked to bring the room around her into focus. Unable to do so, she gave up and stumbled across the room, narrowly avoiding a nasty fall over the shoes her son had left behind in the center of the cabin floor, and leaned close to the mirror on the wall. Elizabeth squinted at her reflection. "But," she said, eyeing disdainfully the prim make of her dress, "this old thing will never do." A smile curled her lip and she took a long, lusty drink from the bottle of rum.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

That the poker game did not take long to purge the purses of the pairs of pirates was no surprise. Gibbs and Marty were out by the second hand and although Cotton and Tearlach lasted a few rounds more than their peers, they did not last long either. All four were still seated at the table, however, and were eyeing—whilst scowling at—an unblinking Alice Witter.

Jack shook his head. The woman was tenacious, he had to give her that. She'd been cheating since she sat down beside Isaac. He'd not been surprised—in fact, he'd expected such from the best thief he knew. He'd not even been surprised that his own cheating could not hold a candle to that which she had up her own sleeve. But he had been surprised when she slapped a Royal Flush matching his own—right down to the thin-lipped King of Diamonds—on the table.

Alice Witter's face reddened as her gaze flicked between the identical hands on the table. Looking up, she caught his smirk, and she lifted her chin. Her grey eyes narrowed. "Cheater."

All four heads swiveled to Jack, eyes wide.

"Well he is a pirate." All eyes fell upon the woman who fell into Gibbs' lap. Elizabeth Turner, dress torn to tatters in all the right places—or, wrong places, Jack noted. He raised a brow at the woman Will Turner had taken as a wife. When she winked and flopped toward him, Gibbs grabbing to steady her, he raised the other. She didn't seem to notice, reaching out with a fumbling hand to paw his shoulders. "A very piratey pirate." Elizabeth giggled, nearly falling off the flustered Gibbs' lap as she attempted to turn and look at Alice. Her finger waggled at the wide-eyed woman. "Very."

Jack's brows lofted higher.

"Mum?"

Jack winced, having forgotten that the children, too, were at the table that their mother had taken by surprise. Little Lucy's ever-explorative fingers had stopped examining the curiosity that was his hair and he glanced down at her. His attention, however, was drawn to the open-mouthed boy at his side. A wave of anxiety washed over Jack as he saw the boy stunned to silence. The pirate righted his own dropped-jaw and frowned, wondering how to escape or explain such a situation. Young Jack's wide eyes prompted him to clap his hands over them for lack of a better idea.

Little Lucy whimpered, clinging tighter to the pirate.

Jack choked. He reached up to loose the girl's stifling grasp and winced at the boy's gasp. Glancing down, he found the eye he'd uncovered wide as before. Young Jack's blink was all it took to clap the hand back in place and frown at the boy's mother. Though, he thought, a smile was much more befitting—"Good to see you Elizabeth—"what with the view he was being afforded—his brows drew together, irritated with the task of ignoring the charms of the charming woman. "But you seem to have lost your dress."

"Only a little of it, Jack."

"I hate to think how little it was to begin with then," Anamaria whispered.

"I don't," Isaac put in. He grinned. Alice smacked him, Jack scowled at him, and it was only then that a vastly apologetic look of contrition shone on his face. He shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry?"

Jack tsked.

"Wot's that?" Gibbs sniffed the air.

Elizabeth giggled. "What do you think it is, Mister Gibbs?"

"Mum?" Her son blinked behind Jack's hands. "Have you been hitting the bottle again?"

Taking his hands from the boy's eyes, Jack frowned down at him. "Again?" He looked up at the giggling Elizabeth and sniffing Gibbs. Rolling his eyes, he patted young Jack on the shoulder. "Best find your father. Immediately." Jumping back from the bit of rum that sloshed from his mug as Elizabeth swiped it, he whipped around with a frown to the boy bounding across the deck. "Or faster, if possible!"

"Mighty mean to tate a man's mug." All eyes fell upon the wee Turner in his arms and Jack nodded down at her in agreement, much to the delight of the chuckling pirates around them.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Neither the first nor the second level of the _Black Pearl_ showed any signs of his father's presence, and Jack Turner was beginning to get slightly irritated with the task of searching for him despite the imminent danger his mother was in. When in the compromised condition she currently suffered, she had "a tendency to run at the mouth" as his father said. The man was the only one who was ever able to quiet the woman, it seemed, and so it was that Jack found himself sneaking through the cabins, narrowly avoiding the waking of snoozing crewmen, and examining every nook and cranny only to do battle in several confrontations against an assortment of very irritable vermin. Roaches, spiders, and two brown mice he fought and subsequently conquered. But the trouble of it all still, well, troubled him.

The dark, damp space that he knew to be the sparring hall lay in front of him as he stepped off the landing. He shivered. Creeping through the great open on the third level, he squinted into the shadows, hoping that there were not any more foes waiting to fight with him. Or perhaps that he would find his father lurking in them. He thought it a distinct possibility what with the mood his old man had been in as of late, not to mention that his mother seemed no better for it. But he came to the end without finding the man. Shaking his head, he felt along the wall for the closet doors and flung them open, holding the lantern high for light.

But the space was empty, save for one huffy black mouse that shook a white-paw at him and darted back into the safe confines of the wood of the ship. Jack sighed and shut the doors. Tramping through another hall, he wondered vaguely where his father could be.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"You know," Jack said, promptly rising to his feet, "I was recently taught a most exhilarating dance by a most extraordinary gypsy woman." He sashayed to the front of the assembled group of pirates, flourished a sweeping arm, and curtsied. Feeling every bit the captain as the men cheered and jeered in good humor, he grinned and tossed back his hair. It was a move he wished—quite immediately as a matter of fact—he hadn't made, for he had to grasp the air to regain his balance.

"Think ya had one drink too many, Captain," Anamaria called to him over the noise.

Jack winced. Recovering as quickly as possible, he cleared his throat and held up a hand to quiet the laughter. When it had, he nodded over at Marty who had once again taken up his bongos. "You know the one."

Marty stared back at him, unmoving.

"Not a good time for stage fright, mate."

With a grimace, the pirate obliged, thumping out the beat.

"Now," Jack said, bouncing at the hip as first his right arm flicked in front of him palm down, and then his left, "this dance was all the rage quite recently." Still bouncing, he flipped both palms up. Right hand lain on his left elbow and left hand on the right, his arms crossed his chest. "Extremely popular in fact."

Ignoring the incredulous guffaws of much of the men, he bounced on, flicking his right hand behind his right shoulder to press against his neck. With the left hand he did the same. "I daresay if there were a measure of the popularity of dances," he paused to slap his right hand on his left thigh and left on his right, "this one would have been… at the top of the—charts."

"Charts?"

"A big scorecard. Made like a playbill board perhaps? Billboard?" He shrugged. "Nevertheless," he said, slapping his right hand to the left and left hand to the right of his rump, "everyone must enjoy this delightful dance. Contagiously catchy beat _and_ it was taught to me by a most memorable woman named…" Trailing off to swivel his hips to the left, to the right, and back again, he clapped his hands and whirled to the right. "Macarena!"

For whatever reason, the crew erupted in gales of gleeful laughter. Jack nodded, pleased with himself, and bowed low in front of them, which seemed to agree with them all the more. As a giggling Elizabeth dragged a red-faced Isaac toward him, he caught sight of the flash that was a bounding Jack Turner and turned his attention to the boy.

"Da's not on the ship!"

The breathless declaration replaced the mirth aboard the _Black Pearl_ with a low buzz of a murmur, and the captain smiled stiffly, drawing the young Turner to his side. "What do you mean," he asked softly, "by 'not on the ship'?" He flicked a hand toward the _Celamar_. "That ship? Or," he said, flicking the other hand toward the _Odessa_, "that ship?"

"This ship! I've searched every bit of the _Pearl_ and can find neither hide nor hair of my Da." The boy sighed and shook his head. "I even looked in every closet."

"What would your Da be doing in the closet?"

"I don't know," young Jack snapped, flicking a hand. "Waiting to come out? It would be rather frightful. If he'd popped out of the closet, I mean..."

Jack frowned, shaking his head. "Doubtful, lad."

"Well I looked there anyway, and you're right. He wasn't there. He's not anywhere on this ship, Uncle Jack."

Playing with the plaits of his beard, he considered what the young Turner was saying. If the lad was wrong and Will was aboard, he did not want to alert the crew to the details of their duress. If the lad was right, and Will was not aboard, it meant that the blacksmith had left under his nose and unbeknownst to him. The thought of such a thing—such an unlikely but surely possible thing—happening on his ship pinched his mouth shut in irritation.

"What," asked a disgusted Jack Turner, "are they _doing_?"

Jack followed the boy's gaze over his shoulder to find the scantily clad Mrs. Turner swinging her hips suggestively in front of an appreciative Isaac. His brows knit. "Ey!" Isaac's blue eyes flashed on him and he flushed guiltily. Elizabeth, however, seemed oblivious, giggling and turning to perform the moves of the dance around him. Grumbling, he pushed between them. The woman didn't miss a beat however, swinging her hips instead against his backside. Jack felt the color drain from his face and jumped, whirling to glare at her.

"_Cap_tain Sparrow," she purred, slapping her hands on his rear instead of her own, "is it that you have a mind to ruin all my rum?"

"On the contrary, missy," he growled, suddenly all too aware of the heady drunkenness slipping away in favor of irritability stemming from irritation, "it seems you're ruining all _my_ rum."

"Rum?" She pushed his hips to swivel in time with hers and giggled at the shock on his face. "Did I say that? I meant to say that you're rooning…roog—roo-en-ing… all my _fun_."

Tearing away from the woman's grasp, Jack turned to Isaac. "Will Turner's gone amiss. And—" He winced at the sound of her giggle as her rear wiggled in close proximity to his and grimaced when she shimmied between he and a grinning Isaac. His pointed glare seemed to sober the younger man. "—He must be found! Without delay, as it's an urgent situation we find ourselves in."


	16. Many Too Many

If one were to assume that there were moments of rest in a place like Tortuga, where the rum flowed like water and promiscuity was not considered anything but the norm, one would have assumed wrong. Morning, noon, and night, Tortuga was the same place. That Will had decided some time ago, in between bungled bounds on the seas with Captain Jack Sparrow that always ended up with the two of them, impetuous pirate leading a wary Will, stirring trouble in any manner of licentious location, and as he wandered the noisy streets of the settlement he felt that the place would not change any time soon.

Stepping over snoring pirates he'd been since dusk, as well as avoiding eye contact with several painted ladies. In the past, he and Jack had deduced, after many embarrassing episodes, that they were both much too popular with the wenches. Whether it was good or bad, both of them had decided it best to avoid them altogether and as much as possible.

"Why—it's Will Turner!"

The plan, however, was rather vague and so it never worked. Will was pretending to admire a rather sickly cat that stared up at him from a pile of trash on a porch when Giselle, who he'd caught sight of before he'd turned on his heel to face the ramshackle house he stood in front of, called his name and marched toward him. The cat blinked and skittered off down the alley, and Will sighed.

"Traitor…"

"Who you talkin to?" Giselle, with a hand holding her yellow hair in its coil atop her head, narrowed her painted eyes. "Jack's here? Where'd he go?"

"He's not. Good day, Gis—"

"What?" She jabbed him in the shoulder. "What sort of fool do you take me for, Will Turner? I just saw you and you was talkin to someone and now that someone's gone, just as I holler at you!"

"I wasn't talking to anyone."

"Yes you was!"

"No I wasn't."

"Uh huh!" Giselle grabbed his hand and tugged him back to face her. "I _heard_ you!"

"Well, I suppose if you heard…" Will furrowed his brow and frowned at her. "What did I say?"

She frowned back. "I don't know but I heard you talkin. Where is he?"

Will considered the question. In theory he had not lied thus far in the conversation, a marvelous feat on the island of Tortuga. And, because she'd not asked for particulars, if he answered her—thus sending her off in search of whatever it might have been she was searching for that she hadn't mentioned by name—he would also not be lying. Though he was fairly certain that even the fierce debate in his head was somehow as immoral an act. Finally, he sighed and nodded over his shoulder. "Down the alley."

The woman squealed and threw her arms around him. "You're too kind, love!" When she pulled away she winked at him. "See me later if you fancy a thank you."

Wincing, Will watched the woman walk away. Despite his having turned down countless such offers from the women of Tortuga, Giselle included, before, they never seemed to get the hint that he did not consider the invitation of interest. Flattering though it sometimes could be, it was also harrowing. Women, as he'd come to find out, had a tendency to be quite the persuasive sort.

"Women," agreed a hearty brogue of a voice. "Never ending, the trouble they cause."

Having also come to find out that the camaraderie of most of the pirates of Tortuga was nothing to smile about, Will glanced warily up at his new and unlikely compatriot. A monster of a man the pirate was that clapped a brawny arm around his shoulders, sunstreaked lock of hair falling over one of his glassy green eyes. Certainly he was a pirate, Will decided, not only smelling the sweat and rum on him, but finding a rather scary looking scar jagging across the man's cheek and under the scruff of his thick blond beard. Quite suddenly, the pirate turned them around and Will opened his mouth to protest.

"Let's have a drink," the other suggested, nodding at the well-lit tavern at the end of the street they stood on. "You look like you could use one!"

Deciding against adding that the pirate himself looked to have had one too many a drink already, Will allowed the bigger man to lead him toward the place he recognized on approach as one of Jack's regular rowdy haunts. Fistfights were spilling out of the doors of The Faithful Bride as he and the pirate walked up the pavestone path to the place. A snarling drunk slashed at Will with a shaky dagger and the big man clocked him with a mighty fist, sending him face down in the dirt. Hoping that the sudden skirmish was not a forewarning of what was to come, Will nodded his thanks and let his somewhat unsavory savior lead him into the especially unsavory saloon.

Immediately, a round, red-faced ruffian rushed them, rum sloshing as he staggered to stand straight. The pirate righted him, as well as his tipped hat, and nodded. Raising a brow, Will watched the other stammer his thanks and stumble off into the wrangle-gangle tangle that comprised the patronage of the tavern. Several fracases seemed to fray into one furious free-for-all. Pirates not fighting were making merry with either mugs or wenches, or even both, Will noted, as to the side one very fancy looking fellow with a cup at his mouth was being attended to by two busty brunettes.

"Some sailors have all the luck."

The wistfulness in the pirate's voice drew Will's frown upwards, and he arched a brow at the solemnity of the man's face, following his gaze back to the so-called lucky sailor. "Or so it seems," he said, remembering a similar scene from days past when Jack had been the lucky one and the two women luckier, as both Jack and Will had discovered a long time later that eve that the ladies had run off with a quite a lot of the loot he'd been lugging.

"Two mugs of your darkest, deepest ale."

Will turned at the pirate's request to find they were at the bar. A pretty little woman filled two mugs and slapped them to the bar top. She smiled at Will, flushing when he smiled back and nodding at the coins the pirate offered for the order. Will looked down at the mug shoved in his hand. Overflowing with a pungent dark liquid it was, but he didn't have time to take a sip as he was steered toward an empty table and shoved unceremoniously into a chair. He watched as the stranger, sitting on the bench on the other side of the table, took a long drink of the ale.

"Good stuff!" The pirate nodded at him. "Drink up."

Still watching him, Will took a sip.

"Your captain looking for a new set of hands aboard?"

Will opened his mouth to say that he didn't know, when he remembered that he hadn't a captain. He scowled and took a heartier drink of the ale. "I'm not a pirate."

The other's brow knit over his mug and his eyes narrowed on him. Tilting his head every which way possible, and finally leaning across the table and turning Will's face every which way possible, he frowned first at the unweathered, unscarred, and altogether unpiratey Will and then at his drink. "Perhaps it's been one too many tonight."

For quite awhile they had sat in silence, both of them downing mugs of the dark ale, and suddenly Will wished to break it. With _what_ was the problem, he decided, studying the fair but sturdy man, of whom he knew absolutely nothing, before him.

The pirate clapped his mug to the table and nodded. "How many too many's that?"

"Five."

A deck of cards smacked the middle of their table between them and they looked up to find three men standing. One was tall, one was short, and one was shaking. The short one grinned and then, all together, the three pulled barrels to the table and sat there.

The tall one leaned close to Will, his yellow teeth basking in the candlelight, and the less strange of the strangers thumped a fist on the table. The skittery man jumped and smiled nervously at Will, who feared for the worst. He looked up at the man whose name he had yet to learn, and was relieved to see a broad grin on his face.

"Well mates, let the games begin!"


	17. Finding Mister Turner

The pirates, Isaac thought, looked most confused. Indeed, most brows were furrowed and Cotton's parrot pranced upon the man's shoulder squicking quietly as if muttering to itself. Sighing and with a bit of reluctance he was certain would have cost him more than a glare from Jack had the captain seen it, he loosed himself from a giggling Elizabeth, apologizing for the interruption, and followed Jack's quick step toward the cabin. Not to his surprise he heard heels tapping rapidly behind him, and at the door he ushered Alice in before him. He reached for the handle but a dark hand slapped his away from it. Brows lifting, he looked down at Anamaria, and nodded she and a grouchy Gibbs in as well. Two small dark heads darted in, pushing past the two pirates, and Isaac shut the door promptly behind him.

Stepping through the drapes at the end of the short and narrow corridor, he saw Jack pacing, and young Jack attempting to keep up. The boy was shadowing the oblivious captain as his small sister tried motioning to the pirate in an effort to tattle on the other. The effort went unnoticed, however, as Jack picked the tiny tot up and, turning on his heel, sat her on the cushioned bench. Little Lucy's face soured and she crossed her arms, sticking her tongue out first at her reciprocating brother and then at the captain's retreating back as he picked up his pacing again.

Glancing at Alice, Isaac found that he was not the only one hiding a snicker.

"Glad ye could all join us," Jack said, bowing slightly as he rolled his eyes. "Though I don't believe I asked any of ye here 'sides the lad—not that lad," he said, looking back at the shorter Jack and frowning as he caught the maniacal mouthing of his words a split second before young Turner froze and grinned up at him. Shaking his head, the captain turned back to nod at Isaac. "To follow."

"Are you calling me a lad?"

Jack's eyes narrowed on him.

"And you didn't ask me," Isaac said, crossing his arms, "to follow. I simply did."

"It was implied." Jack crossed his own arms. "And you're _still_ a lad _until I tell you_ otherwise."

"Pardon my interruption, King Sparrow," Alice cut in, her voice betraying that she did not care whether the captain pardoned her or not, "but what is going on? It's not like Elizabeth to act like such a wh—"

"Hug-happy harpie," Jack put in quickly, glancing over his shoulder at both the children, the girl staring curiously down at the two cat faces that stared up at her and the boy with arms crossed like his, behind him. Wearily, he turned back to the woman. "Yes, Miss Witter, you're right. Elizabeth is not herself at present, nor shall she be until we find Will Turner. Who's apparently gone missing." He smiled stiffly at a red-faced Gibbs. "In a boat, I'm sure."

"But how?" Irritated, Anamaria crossed her arms as well. "Gibbs was supposed to be watchin over the Pearl, including her boats!"

"Aye, that I was—and I was." The sailor flushed deeper red and glared at her. When she ignored him, he turned apologetic eyes up with a timid shrug at the captain. "Don't know how I coulda missed it, Cap'n."

Jack shrugged. "Sail-sliding fiasco I imagine." He turned a scowl on Isaac. "Which is why it's _you_, Foolish Laddy Faust, that shall be accompanying me."

"Accompanying you where?"

"Town." Jack flicked a hand at the air. "To find the other foolish lad."

"If he's going, I'm—"

"_Staying here_," Jack told Alice, turning on heel to face her with a wide grin. "Watching over Elizabeth. And the children. With," he glanced at the gloating Anamaria and grabbed her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and presenting her to the open-mouthed Alice, "this lovely lass."

Anamaria's lip twisted.

Before either could counter his decision, Jack pointed at a giggling Gibbs. "And you're watching over everyone, mate."

Gibbs grumbled.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The route from the Witter cottage to the settlement was a long one, and Jack and Isaac stood at the gate staring down the dirt road that in the dark seemed to stretch forever. Both sighed. Jack turned forlorn eyes on his feet. They'd seen better days for the long walk ahead. In particular, days when he had not raced up and down the steps, slid on sails, fended off the attack of an angry Ice Queen, tred the _Pearl_ with a child in his arms, and danced with each of the three women that took residence upon his ship. One, of whom, in her rum-soaked stupor, kept stepping on his toes. The only other person who'd managed to do more damage to his digitorum dancing was Isaac and that had been when he was but a boy with two very heavy left feet. Wincing at both the ache in his toes and the memory of teaching Faust the boy the incidence of the waltz at the insistence of a very insistent Alice Witter, he lifted the lantern and stepped forward.

"What makes you think he'll be in town?"

"Unless Will's got a secret want to chat and chitter with the crickets," Jack said, plucking the very insect from a precarious dangle off of a low-hanging branch and placing it gently on the dirt, "I doubt he'd prefer the wilderness."

"I don't know," Isaac said, stopping to watch the insect that meant good luck hop down the road. It made a decided leap to the frond of a fern and he listened to it chirp happily on finding its new home, and the young man's blue eyes sparkled. "They do sing the loveliest tunes, afterall."

"Well, lad, I've never known Will to be the musical sort."

"So he doesn't dance La Macarena, I take it?"

"Lord knows," Jack said, rolling his eyes, "how I have tried to teach the lad to dance. I'm under the impression that he simply refuses to."

"Why are you under that impression?"

"When I showed the dance to him," Jack said, lifting a branch that blocked their way. Under it he arched a brow at Isaac, who'd scrambled to hold the other side. "He said, 'Jack,'" the pirate paused, glancing at the straining branch and stepping under it with a shrug, "'I refuse to do it!'"

"Oh," Isaac said, letting the branch snap back in place, "that's a good reason then."

"I thought so. As I'm sure your reason for playing pander to Elizabeth's bawdy behavior is a good one as well."

"Certainly."

"Great!" He smiled and nodded decisively. "Let's hear it."

"You're serious?"

Jack arched a brow. "Am I ever not?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Anamaria lifted her chin.

Alice lifted hers higher.

The two women had been facing each other, arms folded, for what seemed like an eternity. Even the two children stared at them, their eyes wide and stances unmoving, as the staredown ensued. Finally, Anamaria's eyes narrowed and she turned on her heel toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

Irritated, Anamaria threw a hand in the air and turned to face the woman. Though her face was straight as ever, Alice Witter was frantic, wringing her hands as she tailed her toward the door. Anamaria smirked at her and lifted her brows. "To watch over Mrs. Turner!"

"But you can't leave me with the chil—"

"Oh can't I?" Anamaria flung the door open, grinned over her shoulder, and slammed it in the woman's face. She breathed a sigh of relief at having successfully wrangled out of watching the children. When she opened her eyes, however, a troubling sight greeted her. A row of pirates, and Elizabeth, were dancing. Hips bounced along with Marty's bongo beat, and then altogether the line swung their rear ends and spun to the right.

"Aye, Macarena!"

A young man, thin and flashing a wide grin, stepped forward to bump his rump against Elizabeth's. Anamaria's eyes narrowed on him, and her mouth dropped open. Growling, she clenched her fists and her side and stomped toward the two. The drunken woman's protests she ignored as she shoved the pirate away. "Ya rascal, Roth!"

"She started it," he protested, face flushing.

Elizabeth's giggles drew Ana's sharp gaze but she whipped her head around and glared daggers at the man. "But ya know she is a married woman," she spat, glaring at the rest of the men, "and so do the rest of ya!" At their muttered apologies she rolled her eyes. "Ya ain't sorry. Go back to yer dancin. You," she said to Elizabeth quite a bit gentler, "are comin with me."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

As Isaac had launched into his tale that consisted loosely of his meeting a fiery lass in London and his losing her to a luckier lad, Jack had muttered his congratulations and condolences, all the while glancing warily at their surroundings. No matter how many death-defying stunts he pulled he could not shake his fear of the forest. And it was an altogether reasonable fear, he thought, what with the thick foliage—his gaze hooked sharply to it, panic rising in his chest as he swore he saw it move out of the corner of his eye—and the strange shadows cast on the ground from the low-hanging vines and branches. Not to mention the unidentifiable sounds which whispered in his ear. He shuddered. Hoping Isaac had not noticed, he glanced at him and was happy to find the lad still nattering on about…

Love?

"Stop." Jack grabbed his shoulder and shook his head at him. But he broke off, certain a shadow flit past his eye. Spinning, he found the bush previously at his backside shaking, and shouted, jumping backwards and throwing his arms around a startled Isaac. The two of them, shaking but unable to move, watched as the branches parted.

A black mouse scurried out, skittering to a stop in the middle of the road.

Jack sighed with relief. Remembering suddenly his death-grip on the lad, he shrugged away, clearing his throat and frowning at him. The lantern had fallen from his grasp and as Jack leaned down, as gracefully as possible, to pick it up, he eyed the animal.

Wide little eyes stared back at him, the mouse seeming just as startled as the two men had been. Both of its round black ears twitched with its tiny nose. Jack nodded at it. He noted, as the mouse sat on his back legs to shake a paw at him, that the no longer phantom menace looked as if it were wearing gloves. But the animal was off, darting across the road, tiny white paws kicking up a trail of dust behind it.

"Afraid of a mouse, are we?"

Ignoring Isaac's chuckle, Jack shrugged. "You never know, lad." Straightening his coat, he looked ahead and found, much to his relief, the bright light peaking through the branches. Tortuga was just through the trees and they were nearly there. "Not all mice are meek. Remember the story of Big Mild MacDonald."

"The Scotsman?"

"Aye, many a sailor laughed at him for his strange system—fast feudal to be exact—of economics aboard his ship, but now his insignia is synonymous with wealth and power." He smiled and nodded at the town that lay ahead. "Aye, the golden arches of MacDonald. Who knows? Perhaps one day the mouse shall twitch its ears and giggle and everyone will pay attention."

"I think you may have had one drink too many."

"Aye, that could very well be the case," Jack agreed. He shoved the lantern in Isaac's hand and scowled at him. "Get Elizabeth out your head, lad. Not only is the woman too old for you, but she's got children and is spoken for by their father—who I might add is also one of the best friends I have ever had, despite the recent rockiness."

"Where do you think Will is?"

"Well." Jack frowned. "He's at odds with his best friend, his wife, and himself while generally feeling slightly insecure about a number of existing issues—a feeling which was probably brought on by the subconscious knowledge of his growing yet another year older…" He stopped as the forest gave way to the outskirts of the town. "All of which leads me to the conclusion that there's a very good chance we'll find him…"

They stopped as the forest gave way to the outskirts of the town. Isaac blew the candle in the lantern out and, making certain the wick was not aspark, hid it in the brush. Jack nodded his appreciation. Hands on hips, he turned to the town and considered it, gaze sweeping past a rosy-cheeked woman and her rosy-cheeked suitor to the rascal-ridden road ahead, where in the distance gunshots and peals and squeals of laughter rang out. Drunken voices rose and warbled above it all, singing into the night, and Jack arched a brow at the lad. "At the bar."

"Which one?"

Jack's other brow rose to match the one and he squinted down the street as if the answer stood before them. Indeed there were a number of establishments serving the stuff he imagined Will Turner was drowning his sorrows in, and he had no hunch to go on as to which of the many it was where the stubborn smith sat. Shrugging, he slung an arm around Isaac's shoulders and steered him past the rosy-cheeked couple toward the town. "That's what we have to figure out."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Ash and Cinder stared calmly back at Little Lucy, who had relocated but still gazed at the two cats as if entranced by their easy eyes. The three of them were sitting amidst the pillows of Jack's bed. From the foot of it Alice watched the girl warily. She hoped that the cats would entertain the girl, but in the case that they didn't, she worried what it was she'd do with her. As it was, she was sure the chit's brother, who'd been told to stay within the captain's quarters, was wreaking havoc on the room above, various thunks intermittently drawing her eyes narrow and up. Switching her gaze to the little girl, Alice found Little Lucy's dark eyes fixed on her and she forced a stiff smile to her face.

The girl's mouth perked and she pointed a stubby finger at the felines. "Nice tats."

"Thank you."

"Tats' names?"

"Ash," Alice said, nodding at the striped grey tabby, "and Cinder."

At the mention of his name, the darker cat flicked his tail and rolled happily on the bed, rubbing his face on the covers. Such a reaction drew a surprised gasp from the little girl. The chit's eyes lit up. Little Lucy looked up curiously from the preening cat, and Alice shrugged. "Likes to hear his name."

"Lite Untle Jat!" The revelation seemed to delight the chit. She cupped a hand over her mouth before dissolving into giggles. Then, suddenly, her eyes grew wide and the hand fell away. "May I pet him?"

"Yes," Alice said, smiling in spite of herself, "I think he would like that. Just nicely…" She watched the girl put a tentative hand on the cat's head. "Yes, between his ears is good."

Little Lucy giggled as the cat ducked his head back to draw the touch down his nose. "He lite that!"

"Oh yes, he is quite the attention hog," she agreed, leaning forward to stroke Ash's soft fur. "Just like your Uncle Jack."

"What about Uncle Jack?"

Alice looked up in time to see the other Turner dive onto the bed. At the less than polite manner in which he'd arrived beside her she arched a brow. Under her gauging grey gaze he turned away and she tucked away a smile, remembering the less than flattering stories that circulated about her. "Oh yes. Well you know, I was thinking of glaring at him when he returns. Turn him into an icicle for all of time to come."

Jack gaped at her. "You can't do that!"

"No," she admitted, sighing sadly. "But it would be nice if I could. Might shut him up once and for all…"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

After having been squealed at and chased after several times, Jack was too tired to run when Giselle's triumphant shout rang out behind he and Isaac. He sighed and kept walking, pretending once again not to notice the lad's disapproving frown at the familiarity of yet another painted lady. To his dismay, Giselle was quick as ever, catching up quite quickly to them and smirking at the both of them, her darkly lined eyes frightful set against her pale face. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from telling her that she'd overdone the eye makeup, he twitched a smile.

"Nice to see you!"

Jack shot her a dubious look, and watched as she lifted her skirts to step over an alarmingly yellow puddle. Lip curling, he shuddered and glanced worriedly down at his own feet just in time to step over another. Relieved, he sighed softly and came to a stop, parking a hand on his hip and raising his brows at the woman.

Giselle eyed him, a sneer twisting her too-pink mouth. "What's that about?"

"Oh so you've forgotten?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Eh?"

"As I seem to recall—and have recalled, mind you, for quite a few years—" he said, brows snapping together as he enunciated with fingertips in the air, "_you_ shortchanged me!"

"Oh get over yourself!" Giselle snorted. "It was you who was in the hurry and don't you be blamin me for your own shortcomings, Jack Sparrow!"

"That's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow," he told her, frowning, "and there was nothing short about it! _Except_ my change." He raised his brows at her. "Change that you owe me still."

Isaac sighed and Jack glanced at him, wincing at the scowl on his face. The lad's blue eyes were dark with disapproval. Turning back he caught Giselle eyeing him curiously, and was about to excuse himself from the conversation when the woman stepped forward and squinted in the darkness to appraise Isaac. To his credit, the lad didn't utter a word as she reached forward to run her fingers through his silky locks, but his eyes went wide when she grasped his shoulders, stood on her toes, and kissed him. Surprised himself, Jack leaned back and considered the situation, noting the various hoots and hollers from the watching lot with a wide grin that only egged them on louder.

When Giselle broke away and turned to Jack, Isaac glared at her back and wiped his mouth furiously with the cuff of his sleeve much to the chagrin of the audience that had assembled. Two rather rowdy gents slapped congratulations on his back in passing. Growling his distaste for the matter, he glowered at Jack.

"Your son is he?"

"Aye," Jack agreed, throwing an arm around the lad's shoulders, "that he is."

Isaac's brows rose at him. "Am I?"

"In all the ways that count, lad."

"I missed you in London," Isaac said, blue eyes watering. "Every time Fainworth stomped off, I thought how much you would laugh to see his wig wobbling as he shook his head at us."

"Well I'm sorry I missed that."

"And when Hannover would tramp about town in his ridiculous disguise—"

"With the big hair?"

"With the big hair and the terrible—"

"French accent!" Jack grinned. "Oh I bet he's bloody good at it these days."

"He is." Isaac sighed. "You should have seen it."

"Yes," Jack agreed, patting the lad's cheek, "I wish I could ha—"

"Oh! Shut up 'fore I throw up," Giselle groaned. "Sickenin the both of you. Nauseatin, for sure. It's no wonder the other one ain't at your side and is off on his own!"

The both of them frowned, eyes rolling to stare after the woman who flounced away. Gritting his teeth, Jack tugged Isaac forward. The lad shouted as he tumbled to the ground, and Jack winced, hearing the snickers of the pirates around them. Turning, he noted with a wary eye that Isaac had fallen on his rear into one of the alarmingly yellow puddles, and smiled apologetically as he helped him to his feet. The lad scowled at him as he turned him around to survey the damage. Isaac's rear was soaked, and Jack arched a brow, stepping back when the lad yanked away and fixing a bright smile on his face to greet the anger glared his way.

"I did _not_ miss this sort of trouble."

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but saw the blue eyes twitch to stare over his shoulder. Cussing a curse, he grabbed Isaac's arm and together they bounded after Giselle. Narrowly avoiding an altercation with a flower cart they slipped between it and its flustered French florist. Jack caught up with the woman first. He clutched his chest, wincing. Winded as he was, however, he flashed a grin at her. "Perhaps we could let bygones be bygones, love."

She snorted. "Doubt that!"

"No really, I think—" grumbling, he turned on his heel as she turned on hers and followed her around the corner, "—it's time to stop holding grudges over our heads." At her sharp glare he smiled. "And debts!"

"He's right, you know," Isaac chimed in, falling into step on the other side of her. "Perhaps it's time to bury the hatchet."

"Oh believe me! I'd like to bury the hatchet!" She stopped, crossing her arms and glaring up at the both of them in turn. She poked Jack in the chest. "Right in his greedy little heart! It ain't me who owes the debt!"

Jack winced.

"How much do you owe her?"

Jack looked at him in surprise.

"Well?"

The lad's brows knit at him, and he sighed, remembering the importance of their mission. Scowling, he reached in his pocket and retrieved a handful of gold. Finding Giselle eyeing the shine with wide eyes, he frowned down at it, part of his profits from the game of poker, and sighed, looking away as he held it out to her. "Take it," he said, squeezing his eyes shut and biting down hard on his lip to keep from yelping with the pain of allowing her to scoop out of his hand the gold he offered. Opening one eye, he saw it gleaming in her hands and he winced, quickly shutting it. There came to his ears the plinking sound of it being counted, and he grit his teeth. "I believe it's more than enough!"

Giselle smiled sweetly at him and pocketed it. "So it is." She looked from he to Isaac and back again, eyes narrowing. "What is it you're after, then?"

"You mentioned Will Turner," Jack reminded her. "Where is he?"

"Oh." Her brows rose and her lips twisted in a sneer. "Saw him earlier, I did, but I haven't a clue as to where he might be! Nice seein you Jack."

Jack frowned, watching her waltz off patting the pocket that puckered with the weight of his gold. He scowled at Isaac, whose eyes widened innocently. Grumbling, he dragged him past several drunken men toward the closest dingy drinking hole, hoping that they would soon find Will Turner and that their own luck was not any indication of how the women were faring on the _Pearl_.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Elizabeth landed hard on her bum. Anamaria rolled her eyes, looking down at the woman who had nearly pitched the both of them down the stairs at the start of their venture toward the Turner cabin. Now, sitting on one of the steps, she was giggling. Even as Anamaria adopted the tough stance of no-nonsense Captain Soledad, and hauled her roughly up and down the last few stairs, she giggled. When her wobbly feet gave out and tumbled the two of them to the floor, she giggled. And Anamaria sighed.

The both of them on their knees in the moonlight, the pirate scowled at the other woman. Elizabeth was doing her best to draw herself up from the hard wood of the floor when she caught the dirty look shot her way, and she gasped. Giggles finally, subsiding, she hiccupped, loudly, and pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide at Anamaria. Dread washed over the pirate as she looked from Elizabeth to the floor of Jack's ship.

"No, no, no!" Growling, she grabbed the gagging woman, shoved her into the cabin, and held her above the white porcelain washbasin. Not a moment too soon it was as Elizabeth lurched forward. The prayer of thanks that Anamaria quickly sent heavenward was punctuated by a wet, splattering sound that forced her eyes open. They immediately watered. The rancor was indeed rank, the pirate thought, frowning down at the woman shuddering in her arms. But seeing Elizabeth, who was and always had been one of the strongest women Anamaria knew, in such a pathetic position tugged at her heartstrings.

Reaching a gentle hand down, she swept the honeycombed curls up and held them loosely at the back of the woman's neck. "There, there now, Mrs. Turner," she said, hoping to soothe the woman as the contents of her stomach heaved into the basin. She winced. "It's gonna be fine."

At long last, the woman stilled. She reached for the folded washcloth and, sitting back on her knees, wiped her mouth. "Elizabeth," she said softly.

"What?"

"Please call me Elizabeth."

Anamaria looked down and into the big brown eyes that turned up at her. "Aye, Elizabeth," she agreed, offering the bottle of water at her side to the woman and watching as she rinsed her mouth. "We should get ya into bed, lady. Ya had too much to drink."

Elizabeth didn't protest as Anamaria helped her to her feet and to the cot. She sat quietly on the edge, eyes glassy as the woman helped her out of the gown—or what was left of it, Anamaria noted with an arched brow—and into her cotton sleeping gown. It was soft and it enveloped the women in the comfort of its cream colored warmth. Like vanilla, the pirate mused, helping Elizabeth into bed. Sitting on the edge of the cot beside the woman, she leaned forward and fixed the pillows behind her head. Satisfied, she sat back.

"Flirting with the captain's very son," Elizabeth said quietly. In the darkness it was difficult to see, but her eyes shone with tears as she looked up at Anamaria. "A woman married to one of the most steadfast men in the world. You must think me a wicked woman, Anamaria."

"Aye, I think ya a wicked woman, Elizabeth." Anamaria smirked. "But it ain't nothin to do with anything that's gone on tonight." Seeing the worry in the woman's eye, she reached for her hand and patted it. "Now ya listen, lady. Ya just had too much to drink. Who don't on a pirate ship?"

"Yes." A hint of a smile crossed Elizabeth's face. "I suppose you're right."

"'Sides… Turner might be the loyal sort, but he's been a right pain in the arse lately, aye?"

"Aye," Elizabeth whispered. She turned sad eyes to Anamaria. "But I miss him."

"He'll return to ya, lady. Just ya give em time."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

They'd asked nearly everyone. Drunks, pirates, and thieves—one of which had sneaky hands that Jack had had to smack away from his pockets—knew nothing. Several other weasels tried to swindle them, offering false information and hints of being able to tell more for the right price. One had even described Will Turner as a fair-haired, bow-wielding man in green stockings. Then it was that Jack had decided that if they wanted to find the strapping young smith, Will Turner, and not some pretty fascimile who was good with an arrow—though, he thought, the skill might come in handy—he'd best describe him thoroughly before making any inquiry. One drunk had been so beyond reasoning that Jack had grabbed the guestbook of the inn they were standing in and drew Will's portrait. When he'd presented it, the staggering man had promptly fallen over at Isaac's feet.

It was then that the two of them had gone to the closest tavern and ordered two mugs of their finest. Nodding at the many scoundrels that hooted at him, Jack sat across from Isaac and took a drink of his rum. If it was their finest Jack shuddered to think what their worst tasted like. Isaac looked as apalled as he and they smiled at each other as they swallowed hard. Setting his mug back on the table—where it might stay, in fact—Jack pulled the portrait from his pocket.

If he'd ever doubted his hand the portrait he held in it was evidence to the contrary. The man on the page was certainly Will Turner, from the strong square jaw and the soft waves of dark hair against distinct fine cheekbones to the warm, dark eyes of a steadfast friend. Only a bit more rugged and a tad stronger and the face would have been William's. As it was, the man's face swam in front of Jack's eyes despite the differences on the page, and he sighed, shutting his eyes against the image.

"The both of you are giving me a headache. Think it's time the two of you settled your differences." There was a definite scowl in the man's strong, steady voice. "Fore you make worse this migraine."

Determining that there would be said no more than what was, Jack opened his eyes to find the image of Will Turner cast in shadow. Frowning, he looked up at Isaac, who frowned back at him—and beyond. Jack was about to turn around when a stubby finger jabbed past his cheek toward the portrait in his hands. He arched a brow.

"Look!" The stubby finger jabbed at Will's face again. "The likeness is astoundin!"

A long lean finger pointed past Jack's other cheek and he frowned at it.

"No," it waggled, "cos you ain't speechless."

"That ain't the point and you know it!" The stubby one jabbed menacingly toward first the waggling finger and then Will's face. "You mean to tell me that ain't the spittin image of the lad we done played cards with?"

"No." The long finger tapped the air. "I mean to tell you it didn't astound you cos you ain't speechless."

"Nope you ain't speechless," a third voice chimed in. Wavering, but without a finger to further enunciate.

Jack followed the long finger up the long arm to its towering owner and smiled pleasantly at the man who flashed him a grin. He then turned to the stubby one and found that man quicker, whose smile was wide and bright as the first. And then rolling his eyes up he found the third man who wouldn't hold still long enough to allow for even a first impression.

But the shaky one had gleaned enough of an impression of him, it seemed, as he gasped and pointed with an equally shaky finger at Jack's head. "Yo're Cap'n Jack Sparrow!"

"Why it is!" The stubby finger poked at the red bandana. "You're right!"

"Aye!" The long one drew out a strand of the beads and poked at the biggest one. "It is!"

The short and tall man withdrew their hands and smiled sweetly down at Jack.

"It is Cap'n Jack Sparrow," the three intoned, saluting together.

Pleased, Jack turned properly around and flicked a hand in the air, nodding a wink at them. "Good evening, gentlemen. You wouldn't happen to know where to find this young man," he asked, waving the portrait in his hand and treating the pirates to what he knew was his brightest beam, "would you?"

The three looked at it and then at him and then at each other. The short one frowned, the tall one bit his lip, and the shaky one shook a bit. Then they nodded.

"Played some draw with 'im, maybe," the short one offered. "Nice sorta man."

"What would you want with the lad?" The tall one folded his long arms. "If you don't mind me askin."

"Well," Jack said, tapping a finger at Will's face, "this is Will Turner. You may have heard of him. Skilled swordsman and blacksmith. Tad bit unskilled in the bargaining department. Married the governor's daughter. The son of Bootstrap Bill Turner, perhaps?"

Recognition dawned on their three faces, and the shaky one twitched a nod. "And friend of yours!"

"And a friend of mine!" Jack lifted a brow. "Where is he?"

The three of them shrugged at one another, and the short one nodded. "We can take you to 'im."

"Just let us grab a mug first," the tall one suggested.

"I have to tell you, mate." Jack shook his head and grimaced at his own mug on the table, seeing Isaac do the same. "I wouldn't recommend it."

The five of them-Jack and Isaac surrounded by the short, shaky, and tall pirates-trampled toward the end of town that Jack knew rather well. It knew him as well, it seemed. Familiar faces nodded at him. Familiar voices crowed out his name. And of course several very vocal women made known to all surrounding their familiarity with him, as much to the delight of the other scoundrels as to the dismay of a brooding Isaac. The three pirates seemed to revel in all of it, puffing out their chests and winking at those impressed by their parading a most prestigious pirate through town. Jack feigned ignorance to most of it, not because most of it was uncomplimentary-no, that would never be the case-but because the ever deepening scowl on Isaac's face and the way that the proud pirates leading them responded to all of the attention amused him well enough.

That withstanding, he did flash a few brilliant grins and even paused to accept kisses on each cheek from two identical young girls. He'd then treated both lovely lasses to a smile and a kiss to their knuckles. Such was purely unavoidable as he was Captain Jack Sparrow afterall. Though the two very angry looking sailors who'd barreled out of a bar and bounded toward him hadn't looked like they'd agree with the sentiment and, not in the mood for an intense debate, it was only then that he'd insisted that his party rush on toward their intended destination.

It was when they rounded the corner that Jack realized just where Will Turner was. At the end of the street he knew so well was The Faithful Bride. And it was then that he realized that he should have known just where Will Turner was the entire time they'd wasted looking for the lad.

"Will Turner going into one of the places you always drag him to," Isaac said, lips puckering. "Why didn't we think of that?"

"It was my next stop," Jack lied with a careful shrug. "I simply forgot to mention it."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Aye."

Jack decided it best to leave it at that and spent the rest of their walk studying the strange pirates they'd met. The short one, whose name they'd learned was Toddul, was also rather round, and had the red face of the drunkest drunkard, though he smelt less of rum than his taller counterpart. That one had said with a slow drawl that his name was Lemmy, and he looked rather Lemmyish, really, by all estimation of all of the faces Jack would ever put to the name Lemmy. It was true also, Jack had to admit, that he was slightly intimidated-in the basest way of course-by the lanky man's towering over him. But then the one that made him the jumpiest was the jumpiest of the three of them, who was currently taking up the rear. Jack had to glance nonchalantly at him over his own rear, and found each time that the one they simply called Shakes was either twitching or flinching in some manner Jack would have previously believed was anatomically impossible. That and that his mop of black hair kept flopping over one eye. One-eyed people were slightly frightening, Jack found, and thus he could not look at Shakes' face even if the man stood still long enough to get a gander with but a glance. All three men were odd but Jack found each of them pleasant enough an escort.

He was near ready to turn around and invite Shakes to walk in front of him when the sound of rythmic stomping met his ears. Frowning, he looked toward the tavern, as it seemed to be coming from within, and shook his head. He'd heard plenty of stomping in the many fights that broke out but they were never as concise as what it was he was hearing at the present. The feet, it seemed, were stomping a beat.

The closer they drew to the place, the more surprising sounds he heard. Not only was there the stomping but also there was the wail of a fiddle and when they reached the door, he was dumbstruck by the sound of a rather merry-sounding baritone chorus singing a song he was acquainted with nearly as well as the song Elizabeth had taught him.

_A pint of rum and a quart of grog rum tee fiddle dee dee!  
It's the pirate's life for me._

He nodded as Lemmy ushered Isaac in front of him. Jack took his place between the tall man and Toddul. Shakes he felt peer over his shoulder, and though the man's trembling hand on his shoulder was really too much, he found that the sight greeting his eyes did not allow for any sort of interruption.

Eyes popping and jaw dropping, Isaac, too, seemed flabbergasted.

For in the center of the place stood the fiddle player and, to his right, three robust men singing the chorus. But as the song neared the verse so did the other two men near their line of vision, both stomping along with the crowd into view. The gathered group of gleeful good-for-nothings cheered as the stomping Will Turner, who seemed with his hair let down and eyes bright with boozing as gleeful and good-for-nothing as the rest of them, opened his mouth and belted out the words of the verse.

_So I set asail aboard a ship,  
Signed captain's articles too.  
But I hafta be honest I'da signed anything, mate,  
Just to be free on the ocean blue._

Jack's brows rose.

"Good singer he is," Toddul said, a touch of pride in his voice.

"Good," scoffed Lemmy, leaning an elbow on Jack's shoulder, "more like delightful."

"Ye'd think he was a eunuch."

Isaac looked surprised by the shaky one's observation, but turned his wide eyes to Jack. "Not the musical sort is he?"

Jack recovered quickly from the shock of the situation and tossed his hair over his shoulder, effectively ridding himself of Shakes hand. "He's also not the sort to sneak off my ship to Tortuga, slip into the Faithful Bride, drown his sorrows in drink, and play cards with pirates." He shrugged. "Perhaps this trip did him good afterall."

_A pint of rum and a quart of grog rum tee fiddle dee dee!  
It's the pirate's life for me._

A cheer went up amongst the pirates around them, and Jack turned back to the center of the room. Will and his prancing partner had hooked arms and were jigging in a circle as the three men sang the chorus. When they traded off, Jack bit back a grin. The huge man who stepped forward to belt out the next verse, Will clapping and stomping him on, was exactly who Jack had thought he was-right down to the scar across his cheek. With a glance over his shoulder at his friends-Isaac who made to follow him and the other three who were nodding their heads to the tune-Jack slipped into the crowd.


	18. Pirates All Are We

Will was, for once, glad he'd worn boots instead of shoes. Stomping was much easier. Dancing was not as painful on his toes. In fact, he thought, as he hooked arms once again with the big man, boots were made for more than walking. For whatever reason this thought amused him and he laughed, unable to control himself.

"Something funny?" The stranger grinned down at him while they skipped a circle together. "Or is it the ale?"

"A bit of both."

They switched arms. It occurred to Will that he had never had so much fun. Of course, he had never drunk so much ale either. The stuff had been so warming that he had been as unwilling to stop drinking it as the big man had been, and so at some point they had lost count how many drinks too many they'd each had. A good decision, Will had decided, as it had been with the last mug that the stranger had had the idea to teach Will the tune they were singing. Warm and fuzzy, he'd been eager to learn it, and it wasn't long after that that they had enlisted the fiddler and three crooners passing by to play along. The Faithful Bride's pirate patrons had been pleased by the impromptu performance.

They still were, he noted, letting the stranger hand him off to the center to sing again. He grinned down at the crowd. Most of the men grinned back at him, some raised their mugs, and others cheered. That quite a few wenches whistled was not lost on him. Flushing with the energy that rushed through him, he sang.

_Sailed the blue for many a year,  
Till I found me a ship of my own.  
She was a beaut so I took her away,  
And sailed off with her alone._

Will stepped aside, stomping in tune with the interlude that he, the stanger, and the crooners sang together. He accepted a hand off from the big man and bent low to the crowd. Stomping and clapping them on, he listened as the other sang.

_Yo ho uh oh then I was a captain too  
I had to find jolly good men  
To be my faithful crew  
So I set off to the isle of Tortue  
To pick up a faithful good crew_

Hoots and hollers rang out and Will grinned up at the man as they took arms once again. They jigged in a circle, shouting out a merry 'rum tee fiddle dee dee'. Laughing, they skipped apart to the tune of the crooner's chorus.

_I'm a pirate it's true and I sail on the blue  
As far as the eye can see.  
There's not a man alive who can take that away  
Cos for all the world I'm free.  
A pint of rum and a quart of grog rum tee fiddle dee dee!  
I'm a pirate it's true be nothin else I'd do  
For it lives inside of me._

Will stepped forward and nodded down at the grinning men. An old salt offered his mug and he took a hearty drink. The warmth, it seemed to egg him on, and he opened his mouth to sing.

_Loyal men they sailed off with me,  
And we found a rich man's ship.  
We pillaged we plundered we took all the loot  
And gave that fat Frenchie a dip._

To this the crowd roared and crowed, and Will flushed as he and the stranger took arms again. "I love this song!"

"So do I!"

The stranger switched arms and Will glanced down at the crowd. His eyes went wide and his face went white and he was sure he squeaked aloud. "A pint of rum and a quart of grog, rum tee fiddle dee dee!"_ Oh, it just can't be._

"Jack Sparrow!" The stranger boomed, delighted. "Get up here!"

Of course it was, and Will closed his eyes though he didn't lose the beat. Opening them he saw the big man grab hold of Jack. The protesting pirate was hauled between them, eyes wide, and Will laughed, in spite of himself, both at the dismay plain on his friend's face and the oblivious man who egged the pirate into clapping and stomping along.

The crowd crowed, and Captain Jack Sparrow forced a wide smile on his face. "Sweet Sam Samson." His eyes narrowed on the man. "You're nothing but trouble!"

"Don't blame me, mate, blame this song!" The stranger-or Samson, Will figured-whirled Jack to one side and Will to the other, stepping forward to sing.

_Yo ho uh oh what rich men we were!  
Gold in our pockets had to be spent  
So then it was back to Tortue we went.  
That was when I met the girl  
And fell in love with her._

Samson grabbed Jack's arm and Will's as well, the both of them eyeing the other warily across the broad expanse of the man's chest and exchanging nervous smiles. "This is definitely your part, Sparrow!" Samson pushed the two of them forward. "Sing it together lads!"

Jack had to fight to right himself, and Will chuckled. His eyes went wide in innocence at the scowl shot his way. "_Just one girl?_"

"_It's more like three._"

"_Or ten and two more likely!_"

"_Whatever the case warm was her embrace_," Jack sang, grinning crookedly at the crowd, "_and I enjoyed such spoils nightly_!"

Isaac Faust, arms crossed in front of Jack, rolled his eyes, but the rest of the pirates in the place ate it up, laughing and slapping each other on the back. Will recognized the three card-playing pirates singing along with the interlude, heads bobbing together, and as he took arms with Jack, he arched a brow at him. "Come looking for me?"

Jack arched the opposite brow back at him. "Aye, we did." He glanced down at their jigging boots and his brows snapped together. "And quite the trouble it's been."

Will winced. "Sorry?"

"You will be," Jack growled.

Will didn't have time to respond, whirling him to the other side of the circle. But Samson grabbed the pirate's wrist in passing and tugged him toward the center. Watching both Jack and the big man skipping in a circle tickled Will and he laughed uproariously. His mirth was cut short however, as Samson grabbed his wrist as well and drug him into the jig. Jack smiled sweetly at him, and though he normally would have scowled, Will laughed. It was a breathless laugh, and he nearly regretted it, but Jack's startled misstep was worth it. He chuckled.

Samson grinned down at the two of them. "Let's finish this together." He turned them all toward their audience and sang. "_Bein a pirate's bout treasure, drinkin, and dancin_!"

"_Gold, silver, rum_-"

Jack grinned and bent in front of Will, holding a finger up pointedly. "_And woman romancin_," he put in, batting his lashes at a blushing wench.

Will snorted.

"_Yo ho uh oh Sissy oh Sally O'Malley_," boomed Samson's brogue, "_How I hate to break it to you_-"

"_Now don't be mad, I'd hate for that_-"

"_But_," Jack tipped his hat, "_there's two dozen other girls too_!"

A cheer rose among the pirates, the fiddler skipping and stomping too. "A pint of rum and a mug of grog," Samson, Jack, and Will fiddle dee deed, "It's a pirate's life for me!" The baritone choir of sparkle-eyed men intoned the chorus, voices raised, over all of the hullabaloo.

_I'm a pirate it's true and I sail on the blue  
As far as the eye can see.  
There's not a man alive who can take that away  
Cos for all the world I'm free.  
A pint of rum and a quart of grog rum tee fiddle dee dee!  
I'm a pirate it's true be nothin else I'd do  
For it lives inside of me._

Will found himself yanked to Samson's side. Jack, too, looked startled, crushed to the other. Unable to control himself, Will exploded, laughing outright. The pirate rolled his eyes, which only set him off worse. Somehow, he managed to calm himself as they three went forward to finish the song.

"_So here's to all you wenches_-"

"_All you rascally Son of a G's_," Will cut in, grinning up at an approving Samson. "_We'll all be pirates together_-"

"_And free we all shall be_!"

Whistles and shouts and hearty applause went up in the Faithful Bride. Will glanced down and grinned at the crowd for the joyful uprise. He let the big man take his arm and skipped again in a circle. Then they split up and jigged on their own and nodded at Jack to reprise.

"_So all you wenches, rascals, and Son of a G's,_" Jack sang, flicking his hands left and right at them, "_sing along with me._"

_A pint of rum and a quart of grog rum tee fiddle dee dee!  
It's the pirate's life for me. _

We're pirates it's true and we sail on the blue  
As far as the eye can see  
There's not a man alive who can take that away  
Cos for all the world we're free  
A pint of rum and a quart of grog rum tee fiddle dee dee!  
We're pirates it's true be nothin else we'd do  
For our hearts lie with the sea

Samson grabbed Will with one arm and Jack with the other. Will grinned at both of them and then out at the equally happy pirates. The three he recognized, who were bobbing in unison, had coerced Isaac Faust into singing along. The look on the lad's face reminded Will of himself years before when Jack had first come into his life. He nodded at Isaac, who looked surprised, and then glanced at the rest of the grins surrounding him. In the yellow glow of the candlelight their eyes twinkled up at him, a merry sight. Wenches kissed some of the men but more of them clinked their mugs. A handful had even started to jig. When Will looked right he caught Jack's eye and the two of them exchanged shrugs.

_A pint of rum and a quart of grog rum tee fiddle dee dee!  
Pirates all are we!_

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

There was something to be said of the perks available to those of the performing sort, Jack decided, winking at the demure wench across from him who sat rubbing his weary feet. Pleased to see the blush rise into her cheeks, he glanced down the long planked table. Most of those at the Faithful Bride had sent over something of value. Several bottles of the purest rum—one of which he clutched to his chest and lifted to swallow down the fire before evaluating the rest of the offerings—and two bottles of fine wine. Both fancy labels bore the mark of a sought after vintage, but Jack didn't need to read them to know that the rich black sap inside was an exquisite Syrah. That both were yet to be uncorked was what most exceedingly rich men would consider a minor miracle, but glancing at the others gathered at the table—near all with a mug of crude ale in hand—Jack was not surprised.

Between the three crooners and the three odd pirates sat the wench and Samson beside her. Shakes sat beside him. That the man trembled was only natural—either Sweet Sam was a mammoth of a man or the wiry pirate just couldn't still himself for a solitary moment. Whichever was the case, Jack could not be sure. He was sure, however, that Toddul was quite heartily enjoying the plate of sweets. Stubby fingers snatched up the fine confections and into his mouth they went, disappearing one by one. Lemmy scolded him, and the fiddler, across from the tall, lanky pirate, took the opportunity to snatch one of the remaining chocolates. To that man's left and his own right sat Will, who took a deep gulp of ale and flushed red, eyes sparkling. Raising a brow, Jack turned to Isaac. The lad's own disbelief was aimed at the crooners, who seemed never to stop humming even as they drank from their mugs or nibbled the tiny raw fish a man from Sicily had left with the wine.

Relishing the likely possibility of his snagging the Syrah and savoring the lush peppered-plum taste all by his onesies, Jack smiled at the black bottles of it. On the darkest, warmest nights aboard the _Black Pearl_ it would serve well to fill his mouth with its exotic sting. Near lost in thought, Jack glanced up at Samson.

The big man smiled, green eyes flashing at the wine bottles. "Might have to fight me for it."

"A connoisseur of fine wine, are you?" Jack leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. "Tell me Sweet Sammy, is it the splendid spirits of Tortuga that bring you to our most humble corner of the world? Last I heard you were working for Big Mac."

"Aye, MacDonald." Samson took a drink of his ale and nodded. "Good man, he is. But he's passed on and I won't sail under his sons. Understand the passing of one's legacy to one's own, don't ya get me wrong Jacky, but I don't get on with the McD's so it's just best I was movin on."

"So off to Tortuga you went."

"Lookin for you!"

"Lucky I was looking for him," Jack pointed out, nodding at Will. The big man's narrowing eyes rose his brows. He turned, frowning at Will in an attempt to figure what it was Samson was seeing in—he swallowed a sigh. Sometimes, given the right light or affectation, seeing Will was seeing William. "Aye, mate. Looks just like his father."

"Thought he _was_ Bootstrap earlier…"

"You knew my father?" Will leaned across the table, eager. "Tell me about him."

"Knew?" Samson furrowed a brow. "I know him. You don't?"

Will sighed but Jack held up a hand to indicate that he would bear the burden of explanation. Crushing weight upon his chest—the sort he imagined was only fair, as it wasn't he who was pressed to the depths of Davy Jones'—and a tingle in the back of his neck, Captain Jack Sparrow took off his hat, laid it on his lap, and stared at it. Careful not to look at Turner—whose frown-drawn face would certainly only serve to haunt Jack's waking memory of another Turner lost to the both of them—he turned steady eyes on the glassy green ones of the big man.

Candlelight flickered in them, a dim realization sputtering behind the glaze of his gaze. Sam Samson's frown eased and in the next moment deepened. Then it was that brightness washed over the great big green orbs. The great big giant of a man blinked. "Not Bootstrap, Jacky," he said, rubbing a great big hand over the scruff of his beard and the scar that faded behind it. His eyes darkened. "Blast an' blimey—how long've I been gone?"

"Long enough. But a good thing it was, perhaps, as you're here to be blatherin on, aye?" To that he wasn't surprised to see the small shake of Samson's head. Some things weren't an easy gauge no matter what the measure. Jack knew it well, and he nodded. "Bootstrap was a good man, and a good pirate, and a great mate. He'd have wanted to see the both of us well no matter the cost." He frowned. "Fortunately for you, it wasn't your hide he was defending when Barbossa tossed him overboard strapped fast to an sinking cannon."

Samson's eyes widened.

"Aye, the stories are true, mate." Jack sighed, shoulders slumping with the weariness of having to tell the tale again. "Mutiny me, kill Bill, and worst, cursed."

"In that order?"

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but the air rushed from his lungs before he could, and he promptly shut it. Feeling the heat of Will's gaze on him, he swallowed and gave a slight shake of his head. "Not exactly." The fury that flashed in the big man's eyes was not lost on him and he rushed on. "Twas either of us we'd have done the same."

"Nae, we wouldn'ta." Samson took a gulp of his ale and shook his head. "Naether you nor I'd've sat idly by."

_Naether you nor I'd've sat idly by—  
if a friend of ours was left to die._

The three crooners' interruption drew Jack's glare, and they shrugged, hands up and out to the air, as if helpless to their intonation. Jack shook his head. "Was either save me neck and cut his own or save his neck and hope mine healed," he pointed out. "Wish he'd have saved me neck and kept on with the saving of his own. Then we'd three be here." He frowned. "Though something tells me there's a great deal of ponderance to that notion."

_Wish tha' t'would have happened differently—  
here we'd be, we three. He, you, and me._

Jack frowned at the men only to bolster the same shrug from them.

"Ponder it none. Couldn'ta been here the either of us if things'da been different, Jacky." Samson nodded at Will. "Might'a not found him, aye?"

Jack's eyes widened, and he shot the big man what he hoped was a warning in his eyes. "We would've found him," he lied, throwing an arm around Will's shoulders and tugging him close. "Dragged him to sea, the two of us, and made a man out the lad. Think he managed to do that on his own though." He grinned at Will, glad to see the responding flash of pearlies, and shrugged. "Sort of."

Will's smile turned to a frown. "Sort of?"

"As it is I think we'll be heading back to sea," Jack said, turning back to wink at Samson, whose amusement shone in his eyes much as his disappointment had. "Morn'll break soon and I've a mind to be off sailing."

"Would you be needin an extra pair'a hands?"

Jack laughed.

Samson frowned.

Jack stopped laughing and frowned as well. "Where's your ship?"

"Told you I wasn't goin'ta sail under those sons of McD, Jacky. Twasn't me ship but the old man's." He sighed, placing a hand over his heart. "Left me high and dry. Though there was a matter of compensation sent to me wife. Goin'ta miss her, I am." Samson gulped some ale and shook his head, tears in his eyes much as before. "Bonny lass she was. Faithful. Steady too. N'er gave me trouble."

"Your wife?" Will asked.

"My ship."

Will's brows rose.

"So it is I came a-lookin for you, Captain Sparrow." Samson nodded at Jack. "Always been a good man, and a good pirate, and a great mate."

Much to his dismay, Jack felt a genuine smile lifting his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes. He coughed, cleared his throat, and coughed again. Thumping his clavicle, he nodded at Samson. The man's stoic stare told him he hadn't fooled him one bit, and so he cleared his throat and flashed a nervous smile. "Kind words, those."

"Well you always were easy to win over that way."

"Gratification is, of course, highly profitable. Pays off. Flattery does tend to get you everywhere," Jack agreed, drumming his fingers on the table. "Well." He frowned. "Haven't been plaguing society much as we used to aboard the _Pearl_. Seems most of us grew out of that. Mostly." Still drumming his fingers on the table, he stopped short and shrugged. "To tell you the truth mate, we haven't had to take a ship for months."

"Eh?" Samson stared at him for a moment. "You're still a pirate, aye Jacky?"

Jack arched a brow. "Always be a pirate, mate. It's in my blood."

"No it's not." Samson frowned.

"Either way," he shrugged. "Point is," he said, lifting a finger to make one. He frowned and turned to Will. "What was my point?"

"That in order to make a killing, one must not shed blood?"

"Aye that'll do. Point is, Sweet Sammy, we haven't had to take a ship for months due to the glorious brilliance of a certain pirate captain—me, Captain Jack Sparrow, Reverend Sparrowe, Master Joh—." Jack broke off, smiling broadly as he realized the direction of his rambling and that all eyes had turned to him. He cleared his throat. "As I was saying. Being that I'm of a certain mental aptitude which allows for the devision of extemporal excursions not involving evasion or encroachment of the law, we aboard the _Black Pearl_ have been able to net sizable profits without the limitations of or to repercussions."

"Poor man's english, Jacky."

He grinned. "We deal in antiquities."

"What sort?"

"What he means is," Will explained, "that he digs up trouble."

Jack tsked. "Treasure is not trouble!" He turned to Samson. "Relics. Ancient ones. Very profitable. High market value."

"What he means is," Will translated, "that they're trouble to find and take."

Samson frowned.

"Really, what he means is, he likes tossing on the high seas with his unfortunate crew and even less fortunate friends on circumnavigal trips to find terribly awful cursed treasure which is nothing but trouble and twice as difficult to leave behind for all its glittering glory," Isaac finally put in. "And then he takes a ship to appease the crew."

Silence reigned for several long moments. The crooners had not a tune for what Isaac had said. The fiddler dropped his fiddlestick. The three odd pirates looked aghast, as did the wench. Samson sat stock-still. Will Turner, however, burst out laughing, and soon the rest of them followed suit until the only one of them not slapping his knees was Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Well Jack," Samson boomed, reaching across the table and giving his hand a thwack, "sounds exciting!"

"Extremely," Jack said, wincing at the throbbing in his hand. "I might need another pair of hands on the _Pearl_ afterall."

"Just one pair?" Lemmy exchanged glances with the other two odd pirates and looked down the table at the captain. "Could you use another three?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

So it was that after parting with the wench—whom Jack made a show of smooching and sending off with a handful of gold—the fiddler, and the three crooners—whose chorus of _'Beads and baubles and trinkets galore, Jack wears more kohl than a Tortugan wh—' _had been cut off immediately with the offering of the last bottle of rum—Will and the rest departed from the Faithful Bride. Though the sky was turning from black to blue, the town and its taverns and other lascivious licensure were still abustle, and Will decided, with the warmth of all of the ale still in his belly, that he would not want Tortuga to be any other way. Taking in each man of the group, he decided also that he would not want any of them to be any other way.

He would not want Samson, who was at the front of the pack beside Isaac picking off drunken pirates who made passes to punch, kick, or otherwise maim Jack Sparrow and the rest of his friends, to be meek and mild. He would not want Isaac, leading them all, to be less proud. He would not want Toddul to be—taller. He would not want Lemmy to be—shorter, and he would not want Shakes to be… shakier. He would not want Jack Sparrow to be…

Will trailed off in his own head, glancing askance at Jack. The pirate had fallen back to walk beside him, bottles of wine held in one arm. His kohl-rimmed eyes met Will's and he arched a brow. "What?" Jack frowned down at himself, and finding nothing amiss, turned the frown on him. "Something the matter?"

"Nothing." Will shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it, and opened it again. "It's just that I…"

Jack paused to let two drunken men stumble past them, paling at the sight of one's pegleg. It creaked. Jack shuddered, hurrying on. "Well Mr. Turner, spit it out. We haven't all night. Already used that up trying to find you as it were."

"So sorry to be such an inconvenience to you, Jack." Will shot him a dirty look. "What I was going to say was that I would not want you to be anyone but who you are."

The pirate cocked his head, studying him out of the corner of his eye. For the rest of the walk through town he was quiet. Then, when they began their trek through the forest, he spoke. "You know, you're not an inconvenience as much as a living, breathing pain in me arse. And feet."

Will sighed.

Jack rolled his eyes. "It was a joke!"

"Sometimes jokes go too far."

"If you're referring to what happened in Port Royal, Will Turner, I take no blame," Jack told him, lifting his chin. "It was you who flew off the handle. Or grabbed one and pointed its blade at me throat, rather."

"I thought you had used my family against me!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "I _did_." He jabbed a finger in the air. "To get you aboard the _Pearl_. For what it was I planned."  
"For my birthday."

"For your birthday."

"Could you not have just sent a card?"

Jack stopped and looked at him. The moonlight that illuminated his hat and bead-laced hair cast his face in shadow. His eyes were black in the darkness but deep with the mire of hurt. "Trying to tell me something, Mr. Turner?" A soft sigh escaped his throat as he stood studying Will. "Is it that you would rather not celebrate such an occasion with the likes of me?"

"Celebrations are for friends and family," Will said, unable to keep the bitter tone from creeping into his voice. "Neither of which you are to me." He picked up the pace, caring not whether the pirate came after. When he did, however, Will stopped short and glared at him. "Since I saw that you cast aside our friendship."

Jack frowned.

Will shook his head and forged on after the rest of the pirates. They were so far ahead that Isaac's lantern was but a speck of yellow light against the deep blue of the early morning. He was going to break into a run to catch up when Jack grabbed his shoulder and hauled him around.

"I would never do that."

Even in the darkness, Will saw the solemn look on Jack's face and the purity, so rare, in his eyes. Still, he remembered seeing the sword he'd spent hours crafting to what he knew would be Jack's liking, at Alice Witter's side and it stung. "Then why is it that you gave away the sword I gave to you as a token of our friendship?"

"I would never do that either."

"Then why was it tucked in Alice Witter's skirt?"

Jack's brows snapped together.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The _Black Pearl_ was at rest when the party returned. Only a few men stood on deck. They were the crew that had retired early to serve the ship in the morn, and they were, all of them, bright-eyed and helpful, lending all men—even the strangers they eyed strangely—a hand out of both of the longboats they pulled up. Jack, who'd been in the second, did not wait for their help. He stepped out onto the deck of his ship, two bottles of wine in arm, and nodded at Gibbs. Isaac, who'd been in the first boat, was explaining the strangers to the sailor as Jack had insisted upon. Free of that particular obligation, Jack's gaze swept the deck from stem to stern.

Ambling toward him, mussed grey hair giving away his recent rising, a groggy Cook reached up to fix his spectacles. Yawning, he frowned down at the two bottles his captain was placing carefully in his arm. Jack nodded toward his cabin. He patted the man on the shoulder and strolled to the other side of the ship, that which faced the _Odessa_. Alice Witter's flagship gleamed bright blue under the breaking dawn, as did the peaceful water she rested in. Jack's eyes narrowed. He strolled to the other side of the ship, that which faced the _Celamar_. Anamaria's pride and joy glowed with the gentleness of morning, and he sighed.

"Morning, Cap'n."

Jack glanced at Gibbs. "And a fine one at that." He looked up at the heavens. "Clear skies today, aye?"

"Looks like it."

"Aye, it does…"

Gibbs frowned. "What's in yer head, Jack?"

"It's just that..." With a rueful glance over his shoulder at the dark beauty of the _Celamar_, Jack turned on his heel and strode purposefully toward the other side of the ship, Gibbs trailing, to glare at the _Odessa_. "It seems a nice day to set sail."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Isaac was showing the four new hands to their temporary cabin. It would serve them well for their resting until the captain found a moment to properly introduce them to the existing crew. Will hung behind in the hall, watching the younger man apologize to Samson and Lemmy for the low ceiling. The lanky one shrugged. The big man did much the same and hunkered down beside the other on a cot. He caught Will's eye and they shared a smile. Will gave a quick wave of his hand a moment before Isaac swept the door shut.

There they stood in the hall together, both of them regarding the other. Isaac's blue gaze was wary, and Will's brown the same. When they met, both looked away. Will studied the planked floor. When he finally glanced up, he found the blue eyes set on his bruised jaw and he raised his brows.

"So there _has_ been some trouble."

The reminder did not please Will. He shot the lad a dirty look before he turned to walk down the great hall. That Isaac followed irritated him. He pressed his lips together, forcing himself not to glance askance at the man who'd fallen into step beside him. They walked in silence, slowly, toward the stairs.

"May I ask you something?"

"If I allow it, will you leave me to myself?"

"Why is it that you hate me so?"

The earnest way in which Isaac had asked the question forced Will to look at him. He bristled, noticing that the lad's eyes were equally earnest. "I don't hate you," he said quietly, looking away. The guilt that resonated from his resentment tossed his tummy and he winced. "If you don't mind," he said, passing him to start up the stairs, "I've a wife to return to."

Relief flooded through Will when he realized that Isaac had not followed again. More conversation with the lad he simply couldn't bear. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to slip into bed beside his wife and kiss her. When he found her amongst the pillows in their otherwise empty cabin, he did just that.

Elizabeth's eyes opened slowly. "Will…"

"Elizabeth," he said, bringing her hand to his lips, "I was wrong."

She sniffed.

"I am sorry." He sighed. "I don't think words could ever repair the damage I may have caused to your heart with my brash and unfounded accusations. I should have trusted you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don't know what I was thinking or if I was thinking at all when I said what I did."

She sniffed again.

"I love you."

"Oh, Will…" His wife's voice was soft; gentle as it had been the day that Jack Sparrow had sailed free from Port Royal on the very ship they lay in. Tears filled her eyes. She sniffed and arched a brow. "Have you been drinking?"

"Only a little," he said, smiling at the coy quirk of her lip as he bent his head for a kiss. Their mouths met for a moment. In the next, the _Pearl_ swayed and knocked Will away. Elizabeth giggled. She grabbed him and kissed her smile to his. Then it was that Will Turner decided that he and his wife were to be lost to all but each other in the warmth of their love and the morning light.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Alice Witter yawned and lifted her head.

In the center of Jack's bed she lay, a cat on each side. Cinder lay between she and Little Lucy, who looked as much the angel snoozing as she had before. Ash lay between she and the boy. Air whistled through Jack Turner's nose as he slept. She sighed, relieved that the ship wasn't swaying as she'd thought, and stretched in the morning light.

In another part of the ship, Anamaria woke with a start. Her dark eyes fell upon Roth sleeping at her side. His longish dark hair tickled her arm. The pirate was wrapped in the red, white, and blue of the Union Jack. A smirk touched her lips as she fell back to her pillow.

"Must have been a dream," both women murmured, closing their eyes.

"_Clear the rocks! Trim all the way if you have to_!"

At the sound of Jack's voice, Anamaria and Alice Witter jumped awake. One's eyes narrowed, and the other's popped wide. "That bloody pirate!"

"Trim those sails port to fill and if that doesn't work, trim them starboard!" Jack stood with a hand on the helm, glaring out at his men as they scrambled to answer his call. He glanced up at the rigging. The black sails furled to port and filled with the wind. Gently, he touched the rudder to port. "If she loses wind she'll breathe it back!"

Indeed, as the ship slipped between the two sparkling waterfalls into the pass, she lost air. A quiet calm descended upon the _Pearl_. Her sails slackened. Ropes fell easy in the hands of the crewmen. The pirates looked to one another, and up to the resting rigging, and beyond the railing to the craggy rock walls passing by. The _Pearl_ was moving still, despite having lost the wind. She sailed easily through the pass as if guided by some steady unseen force. Her crew leaned on the rails, looking out and over them. Finding nothing, their murmurs swept the decks.

Jack's mouth twitched. He had explained the mechanics of the canal and its changeable current to them time and again but they refused to absorb such things, preferring to believe instead that the _Pearl_ moved of her own free will thanks be to some hidden majesty, some esoteric magickal compulsion. He couldn't blame them, of course. The _Black Pearl_ was a most majestic ship and Jack could not deny her sweet mystery entranced even him. Besides, he thought with a shrug, the notion of supernaturalism attached to his name and reputation was a nice touch to both.

"She'll carry us through," Jack called down, glancing over his shoulder at the two ships disappearing from view. The sprit of the _Celamar_ seemed a pointing finger. Anamaria's pointing finger, to be exact. Wincing, he turned from it. To his dismay, the woman herself was standing, arms folded, in front of him. He forced a smile to his face. "Anamaria! How lovely you are in the light of the morn! Beautiful, really. A sight for sorry—"

"You'll be sorry!"

The slap that spun him around he'd expected, and he sighed softly, rubbing his jaw. "Already am." He turned back to her, flinching at her jerking arm and stepping back to avoid another blow. "Don't—" he grabbed the spokes of the wheel and ducked, missing a slap, "be mad." Popping back up, he twitched a sweet smile. "I've every intention to make it up to you, love. I promise. I swear!"

"Don't ya give me that, Sparrow," Anamaria hissed, knocking him upside the head. "Ya knew I wanted off!"

Below their feet the doors to his cabin burst open. Alice Witter flew on deck. Disheveled she was, her white curls a mass of bed-ridden mess and her dress as bedraggled. Outrage screeched from her as she spun in a circle, eyes wide at the proof of the process of sailing. Between the scenery slipping by and the working pirates, one of which she shoved out of her way to storm furiously up the stairs, Jack was fairly certain that she had figured out that the _Black Pearl _had set sail. From behind the wheel, one hand lying idly upon it, he arched a brow at her. "Nice hair."

"Turn this ship around!" As an afterthought, the woman reached up to her hair and felt for it, squeaking when she discovered its distress. She hissed, baring her teeth. "Right now, Sparrow!"

"Well…" Jack glanced port to the rock wall and starboard the other before turning solemn eyes upon her. "We're sort of walled in right now. It'll have to wait."

"I won't wait!" She stamped her foot and pointed a finger at him. "Put out the sweeps! Row backwards!"

"No."

Frustrated, Alice curled her fingers in her hair. She tugged on it. "Please?"

Jack smiled and leaned across the wheel. He swooped the air with his hand. His brows rose. "You're asking? Politely? Well there _is_ a first time for everything!" They rose further and, in the next instant, snapped together. "But I'm afraid my answer is no."

"Jack!"

"Sorry, love. I can't turn this ship around right now, and when I can, I won't." He laid a hand on his hip. "Nor will I break good men's' arms—row backwards, indeed—for a woman with sticky fingers." He glared pointedly at her hip. "Like you. Stole my sword, aye?"

"Is that what this is about?"

"Something like that," he agreed. "May seem petty to you, Miss Witter, but the sword you thieved from me has caused me a great deal of grief. Seems to me it's only fair that you should suffer the same sort of consequences. Besides, Ice Queen, you're on my ship. What I say goes."

She lifted her chin and reached toward the hiding place. The sword hissed from its hidden holster, steel blade glinting at him in the sunlight much as her steely eyes glared. She stabbed the tip into the wood of the deck and, with a sniff, whirled and stormed down the stairs.

"Thank you," Jack called after her. Rolling his eyes, he reached for the handle. The blade was pried easily from the wood. He slid it into the scabbard at his own hip only to feel the brunt of Anamaria's swift palm crack against the back of his head. It was unexpected and he growled, whirling to face her. "What was _that_ for?"

"For not thinkin' of me! Aye," she spat, cracking him across the face and whirling on her heel, "thank ya, Jack!"

Red faced—in more ways than one, he thought, wincing and reaching for the stinging flesh—he glared after her as she chased down the other woman. "Don't mention it!" Jack averted his gaze when the two women huddled below shot him a dirty look. He glanced up at the sails. They shivered in the breeze. The wind was picking up. Such could only be if they were nearing the end of the passageway where the cliffs were not so steep. Jack's gaze swept forward. Indeed, Tortuga Bay came into view in the space angled between the two walls. Ships bobbed, buoyed, in the water. He frowned down at the crew. "We're making the turn!"

Jack gave the rudder a gentle tug. The _Pearl_ shuddered, turning to follow the curve that opened to the bay. The black sails furled and snapped taut with the wind's following breath. "Let her lift," he called to the men, giving the wheel another tug to push her sprit through the pass, "and tug that line to see us off!"

The two redheaded Irishmen reached for the plait of rope dangling above their heads and gave a mighty tug on it. Stone scraped stone. Thunder rumbled. They looked at each other, eyes wide. Shouts from the other crew turned them astern to look over the rail and their mouths dropped. Behind them the water rushed, rolling a mighty wave. The men—and women, too—scrambled, grabbing wood and ropes and each other. No sooner than they'd steadied themselves on the ship, the wave lifted her stern. The water swelled beneath the _Black Pearl_ and carried her swiftly into the bay.

Jack grinned and turned her to the northeast. "You know where to take her," he said to bright-eyed Cotton, eyeing the parrot on the man's shoulder before heading to his cabin. "Squawk if you need me!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

When Will woke, it was late in the day. The sun was still out, but it was soon to sink. He knew such by the beams of golden light that set Elizabeth's skin aglow and the darkening blue that washed the cabin's contents through the porthole. His head ached but he smiled. The events of the late eve and early morning had lifted his spirits, and he was determined to stay as light-hearted as was possible.

Finding Elizabeth's open eyes watching him, he bent to kiss her. Joy zinged through him at the touch of her lips to his and he smiled again. "Let's go find our children, Mrs. Turner."

"Yes," she agreed, allowing him to take her hand and help her from the bed, "let's."

Will leant down to the trunk of clothes. The scrap of green material lying atop it puzzled him. He picked it up and held it to the light, frowning at it. "Is this—"

Elizabeth flushed and grabbed it, tossing it aside. "Nevermind that."

He raised a brow and lifted the lid.

After dressing in the loose, well-worn clothes they stored on the _Pearl_ for sailing ventures with their pirate family, the two of them paused in the doorway to look at each other. They shared a gentle kiss. Will took Elizabeth's hand and led her out of the cabin and up the stairs to the deck. Just as he'd thought, the sun was beginning to sink behind the _Black Pearl_ as she eased through the waves like a black swan. Her crew was hard at work. Cotton was manning the helm. Tearlach was adjusting the mainsail. Marty and Cook were lugging jugs across the deck. Gibbs, overseeing it all, spotted them, took a slug from his flask, and headed in their direction. Will waited, looking up at the clear sky. The warmth of his wife's hand in his warmed his heart and he marveled at the open sky and sea around them.

"Good day for sailing it was so we set off," Gibbs told them. He nodded. "Cook tells me the wee ones are with Jack."

"Thank you," Will said, leading Elizabeth toward the cabin. On their way, they passed Anamaria and Alice Witter. The two women were pulling a wooden crate. Both whispered and glanced furtively about as they did so. They brightened when they saw them. Anamaria smiled at Will, and Alice waved. He arched a brow but decided it best not to ponder.

Elizabeth glanced at them over her shoulder. "What do you think they're doing?"

"If they're working together," he said, holding the door for his wife, "it can't be good." He frowned. "I hope that they're not cooking—" he broke off, realizing it was a blessing that Elizabeth was not cooking with them. The owl pudding had been a disastor, he remembered with a wince.

Elizabeth shot him a warning look. "If you even mention it, Will, I will gladly join them!"

He pressed his lips together.

The two crossed the great room. Elizabeth allowed Will to lead her down the spiral staircase to Jack's private quarters. The pirate was sleeping. On his back he was, snoring softly, one hand on his chest and the other lost to the pillows. The two cats, Ash and Cinder, sat each to a side. They kept a steady watch over Jack, and Little Lucy, perched quietly to one side, kept a steady watch over them. Not even as both her parents descended the steps did she look up.

"Mama'n Da," she whispered when they drew near. "Untle Jat talts in his sleep."

The pirate, as if in reponse, frowned. He began to mutter and mumble. Curious, Will raised his brows and leaned down to listen. Jack's mumbling was low but it was distinct. "…will, if you don't mind. I'm taking them there… Yes, 'about time's right.'… Don't tell me about your headaches, mate. He's your son!"

A shiver shook Will's spine.

"He's been talking like that all day." Their son, who had been sitting on a chest near the windows watching the beginnings of the sunset, had snuck up on them. He'd pushed between them to stand at the edge of the bed. His glinting eyes met his father's. He held a crinkled piece of parchment out to him. "This was in his hand when I woke."

Will took it. Upon the parchment was a portrait. There had been several times in the past that Will had wanted to ask his friend for a family portrait, but he had not. Though he'd known of Jack's talent with the artist's quill, it was one of the things they did not speak much of. He stood and straightened the paper in his hand. It was his own face that gazed warmly upon him from the page. A near perfect likeness it was. Perfect it would be if he were gazing upon it five years earlier.

"Uncle Jack must have drawn it awhile ago," Jack said.

Will frowned down at it. He wasn't preoccupied with vanity, but he knew he'd weathered a fair share of creases in his face since the birth of his and Elizabeth's second child. The shiver that shook him did so again as he wondered if Jack's inability to draw his current likeness had anything to do with the likeness of his father. He wondered again if the man in his dreams, the one who always listened but rarely offered counsel and complained frequently of headaches brought on by both he and the pirate, was of the same likeness.

Nodding, he tucked it in his pocket and turned to his wife. Elizabeth had gathered Little Lucy in her arms and was waiting for his approval to leave the room. He smiled at her, and laid a hand on his son's shoulder, guiding him up the stairs behind his mother. "I hope that you've been keeping out of trouble."

"I don't think you've room to talk about keeping out of trouble, Da."

_**Author's Babble: **Song's original. It's my first foray into Pirate Pieces, so I'm slightly proud of it. Wrote it with the POTC ride and movie both in mind…I'd prefer not seeing it posted anywhere else, thank you._


	19. Cleaning Up Messes

Jack flinched. There was too much light filling the room. It seeped through his eyelids and warmed his face. Surely it was quite past sunrise. He'd succumbed to sleep shortly after sunrise, and had not risen to watch its setting. Now it had risen again, and he hadn't been awake to watch it. He'd overslept—slept far too long without waking. Cracking an eye open, he found Cook standing bedside with a tray. It was laden with breakfast food, all smelling delicious in each their own way and swirling together to incite a growl from Jack's stomach.

Cook, having heard it, grinned. "Thought you might be hungry, Captain."

Rubbing his grumbling tum, he sat up. "Appears you were right." He stretched, wincing at the muscles that screamed he'd been dancing—or sail sliding—again. "Though," he said, eyeing the food that he knew was too much, "unless I've a mind to start singing for the opera, I do believe there's enough food for two here."

"There is."

Cook, having not spoken the words, smiled, nodded, and left the room.

Isaac stood by the windows, looking out. His back was to Jack. He turned around and smiled. "Cook said the pancakes were for the captain only. So I figured there's _no_ better way to start the day than _with_ the captain—and I awaited your waking." Crossing the room, he sat on the chair that had been set at the other side of the table. His blue eyes sparkled at the pirate. "Took you bloody long enough!"

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Always did have it rough at mealtime. I know it's difficult, lad, but really, all you need to do is remember that you spear the food," he said, doing just that with his fork, "and bring it nicely, neatly, to your mouth. Chew." He chewed. "And swallow." He swallowed and smiled. "You see? Nothing to it."

"Try as I may," Isaac said, chucking a grape his way and frowning at the hand it flew from, "I can never get it right."

The grape thwacked between his eyes and Jack sighed. "You know…" he paused, watching it roll down his nose. "Seventy seven years you've been gone, and yet I did not miss the food throwing one bit."

Isaac raised his brows and shoveled a good bit of pancake into his mouth. Jack followed suit. They ate in silence for a tad, Isaac for whatever reason and Jack for his empty and suddenly demanding stomach. Eggs were good and the pancakes fluffy. Jack wasn't sure how Cook managed to make such delectably delicious pancakes aboard his ship without milk, and, all things considering, he was glad for that particular lack of knowledge. The bacon was slightly burnt, but then that was just the way he liked it anyway. He was reaching for another piece of it when the lad cleared his throat, and, stuffing the crispy meat in his mouth, Jack looked up at him.

"Does Will Turner hate me?"

Jack chewed, staring at him. From the look on the lad's face, he knew laughter was not the best response. Unsure what response was best besides such, he frowned and swallowed. Then he rolled his eyes, shook his head, and reached for his teacup.

"He's the only one who has not welcomed me home."

"Aye and you know why that is?" Jack nodded and pointed his pinky, up as it was as he'd been taking a proper sip of tea, at him. "He didn't recognize you. Poor lad. It's likely he still doesn't recognize you—because you were gone for seventy seven years."

Apparently the joke was lost on the lad. Isaac frowned, took a big bite of egg, and gazed sullenly at the plate in front of him. Swallowing, he turned forlorn eyes up at the man who'd left him in London.

Jack sighed and set down his cup. "You're right, lad. There is tension between the two of you. Much as I try I can't deny it. When you were young I told you that you were imagining things, but now you're not a young man anymore than I'm in the King's Navy, so I'll level with you." He nodded. "Will resents you. I intend to fix that very soon so that the two of you might get on now that you're both nearly men."

"Nearly?"

"I had a brother once—in all the ways that count. Twas nice. I'd like to see the two of you have what we had."

"Don't you think it's a little too late for that?"

Jack looked Isaac in the eye and shook his head. "It is never too late for that."

They finished drinking the tea and eating the last of their breakfast, Cook's sweet scones, in silence. It was an uneasy one, and so as Jack took care of the grainy crumbs left at the tips of his fingers with a fine linen napkin he considered the best way in which to break it. After much deliberation and too much fussing he tossed the napkin aside. Cinder, rubbing his ankles, caught his attention. He frowned down at the animal and glanced around the cabin for its mate.

Ash was perched high upon the chinoiserie. Her tail swished, lazy as her gaze out the windows. Jack rose, picking up the prowling Cinder. The cat leapt from his arms to the top of the cabinet and licked the other's nose. She didn't stir, her eyes not leaving the sparkling sea fanning out behind the _Pearl_. Jack had to agree that such was sometimes too spectacular. It looked to be a glorious day. Unfortunately, it was not spectacular enough to keep his attention. From the sounds of things, particularly the rustle of linen, Isaac was idling much the same way he had. He turned his head toward the sound and raised a brow. "Is the lovely Miss Witter risen?"

"From what I hear," Isaac said, crossing the room to lean against Jack's statue of Aphrodite, "you managed to get quite a rise out of her yourself yesterday morn." He smiled a bit at Jack's smirk and shrugged. "This morn I've yet to see her."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Anamaria eyed the pile of crates. Various ink stampings of a variety of languages covered their wooden sides in shades of red and green. Most of the marking was decidedly Asian, fine brushed symbols a puzzle to her eye and mind. Some of it, however, was an easy read of Spanish. 'Frágil' read one. Another was marked 'Precaución, contenido volátil. No guarde cerca del fuego.' She counted them. There were twenty-five in all. Each one she and Alice had dragged from the captain's quarters to the deck to the unused stow space near the longboats. It had been a lot of work, but she'd thought the idea a good one. Now, considering the strange stash, she wasn't so sure.

She turned her eyes on the other woman. "Ya think we can do it?"

"Think?" A smile flit across Alice Witter's face. "I know we can."

Anamaria raised a brow.

Footsteps drawing near cut short their dialogue. Both of them scrambled from the space side by side out the door and came face to face with a startled Joshamee Gibbs. The sailor choked on the drink he'd just taken. Red faced and coughing, he capped the flask and shoved it back to its hiding spot under his vest. Anamaria exchanged a glance with Alice. The woman's eyes widened, hand twisting behind Anamaria's back. There was a faint click as she stuck the key in the lock and turned it. Immediately, both of them looked at the man to see if he'd heard it and were relieved to see he had not as he was still sputtering.

Anamaria was about to relax against the door when Alice nudged her forward. She grit her teeth. Nudging the woman back, she scowled at her.

Alice scowled back and nodded toward Gibbs.

Rolling her eyes, Anamaria stepped forward and clapped the sailor on the back. "There ya go, Joshamee. Aye, ya cough it up. Went down the wrong pipe's all." She glared over his shoulder at Witter, but fixed a look of concern on her face as the sailor recovered. "See, now ya feel better."

Gibbs grimaced. He sobered quickly, however, when he saw that she meant to pound his back again. "Aye, Marie," he rasped. "Right as rain."

The two women watched as he hurried away rubbing his throat. As soon as he was out of earshot, Anamaria turned to Witter with the glare she'd had to abandon. Dusting her hands off, Alice rolled her eyes in return. "Don't give me that, Soledad." She shrugged. "We had to scare him off somehow!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The day was lovely. The _Pearl_ had sailed easily and without interruption, her sails full with the following wind. She'd made good time, Jack decided. The sun was setting and if all calculations were correct…

"Where we headed?"

Jack jumped and whirled to glare up at the man who'd snuck up on him. Samson treated him to a wide grin, winking one of his green eyes. Jack snorted and turned back to his chart. He had no doubt that the big man would squint over his shoulder—or both of them if necessary—to study the thing and figure the answer on his own. Indeed, he heard the cluck of surprise just as he moved to roll the chart up.

"You don't say?"

"I didn't," Jack pointed out, poking the tube at him. He shoved it in the pigeonhole beneath the desk and turned to lean back on the edge, folding his arms. "But there is something I should say."

"What is it, Jacky? What's got you sour?" Samson frowned. "You're lookin a bit like a lemonface."

"I do _not_ look like a lemonface!" He frowned. He frowned at his own frown and shook his head to clear it. He frowned again, this time at Samson. "Will's not to know."

"Eh?"

Jack gave him a look.

Samson shrugged. "Naet a mind reader, Captain."

"Some things," Jack said, "are not things most people would want to hear and are therefore best left unsaid, savvy?"

"Unmentionables?"

Jack nodded. "Wives men don't return to. Children left behind. The good-intentioned men who leave them both behind and are reluctant to return to them for a number of unmentionable reasons. Self-loathing? Guilt, perhaps? An overwhelming fear of rejection?"

Understanding registered in the big man's eyes.

Jack stared coolly back at him. "William had a mind to seek that lad out even if he said he couldn't. Had he had the time he would've. Will Turner's not to hear any different."

"Aye, Jacky," Samson agreed, "I got it."

"Good."

Samson nodded at the chart sticking out of its hole. "If I'd've known you still kept that place I'd've sailed in years ago. Quite a few times I'd thought on you. And William. Didn't quite believe the tales I heard, but twas too much a risk to be chancin rompin the old haunts."

"And a good thing you didn't."

"Aye, as runnin into undead searats ain't what I'd call a good day. But t'would've been nice to known what it was happened." Samson's tongue sharpened. "T'would've been nice to hear it from your mouth, Jacky, 'stead of the mouths of cackling sea captains. Could've at least sent a letter."

"Didn't know you cared," Jack said, examining his nails. Samson's low growl drew his gaze up, however, and he dropped the hand instinctively to the sword at his hip. The big man loomed over him. Lip curled in a snarl, Samson brought one of his huge hands up. Jack met his hot, green-eyed gaze. An important decision he made in that instant—duck or be decked—but Samson didn't reach for him. The big man's hand went to his own face instead.

"Didn't care?"

Samson's fingertip found the scar and traced its jagging stretch of permanently puckered flesh from nose to jaw. Jack followed along with his eyes, and winced. Memories shook him. He bit hard on the inside of his lip to quell its quaking. When he raised his gaze to the big man's it was hot as before. This time, however, Jack let his hand drop from his weapon.

"Aye," Samson agreed, voice hushed, "wouldn't wear this jagger for just anyone, Jack."

"Untle Jat!"

Little Lucy's interruption cut the chitchat short, both men looking up to find the girl and her brother tailed by their mother. The big man stepped back and treated the woman and her children to a warm smile, Jack clearing his throat. The children charged toward the pirate. They plowed into him. Unprepared for such, he was knocked back on the desk, bum first, much to Samson's delight. The big man chuckled as he ducked out of the room. Jack's gaze followed him amidst the cheerful chatter of the two children.

"Jack," Elizabeth said, glancing worriedly over her shoulder and fixing him with a pointed look, "you sent for us?"

"I sent for you. And the children." He nodded the two young ones toward the steps and smiled up at their mother. "I've something to keep them busy."

"And I?"

"And you what?"

"What am I to do?"

He sighed and stood. Slinging an arm about her shoulders, he led her toward the door. Depositing her 'fore the drapes, he winked at her. "You, Mrs. Turner, are to keep your husband busy for the remainder of the eve. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Elizabeth emerged from the captain's quarters to find a bunch of the men, led by Cook and Gibbs, hauling jugs across the deck. A good number of earthen vessels already sat in clusters around the six wooden vats set up on deck. Marty dumped piles of soap beside each one, and several pirates not helping stared on as if the others were mad. Elizabeth arched a brow and snagged her approaching husband by the arm.

He frowned over his shoulder at the preparation behind them, but followed her lead nonetheless. "Where are we going?"

"To our cabin."

"Why are we going to our cabin?"

"Because," Elizabeth said, grinning wickedly at the top of the stairs, "Captain Sparrow has insisted upon preoccupying the children for the eve." She led the rest of the way and was gladly enveloped in Will's arms as they arrived at their cabin door. Joy ebbed through her as their lips met, and she smiled softly up at him when they parted. "I am so glad to have you back, Will."

Eyes warm on hers, he smiled back. "And I am glad to be welcome."

They moved to kiss again, but the door to their cabin swung open and shut. Roth, flushing, scrambled past them and up the stairs before either could question him. They looked at each other and at the door, and, frowning, Will turned the knob and pushed it open. They approached the threshold cautiously, Will's hand going to the sword at his side. As the cabin lay open afront them, he froze. Elizabeth peered over his shoulder and gasped.

"That bloody pirate," Will said.

Elizabeth smiled. "Jack certainly has a way with subtlety."

"Yes," Will agreed, glancing about, "in that it's not his way at all."

The cabin had been filled with candles. Flames flickering, they lit the darkening room. A porcelain tub sat in the corner, bath of flower petals soaking in the steaming water and filling the air with a heady perfume. A blanket of like petals covered the cot, but the sumptuous silk bedding that it had been dressed with peeked through them enough to elicit a sigh from Elizabeth as she brushed her hand over it. Two bottles of wine sat on the table accompanied by a note. Will picked it up and flicked it open to find Jack's scrawl.

_Set her afire, Will Turner._

His gaze skipped the white space to afterthought scrawled across the bottom.

But not the Pearl. Mind the candles or you'll be one, savvy?

Will smiled.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Gibbs eyed their handiwork. He and Cook had carried out the routine swift as usual, Marty too. They stood to the side, all three of them plus Tearlach and Cotton, surveying the men standing across from them on the deck. The entire crew was gathered. The new men stood at the front of the group. Toddul, Lemmy, and Shakes eyed the tubs of water with trepidation. Shakes shook, and Toddul and Lemmy exchanged glances. The big man, Samson, stood back, huge arms across his broad chest. Most of the men looked less than enthused, but Gibbs and his four comrades were used to such.

The sailor clapped his hands for attention and smiled when he knew he had every eye and ear turned his way. "Every one of ye's to scrub up 'fore the mideve. Cap'n's orders! One man to a tub. Six men at a time. Tearlach has towel duty."

The bald man's pearlies shone as he held up one of the cotton towels.

"He'll check ye off the list when ye take yer towel and send ye to Cotton who's got…" His gaze swept over the stacks and piles of linen, and he shrugged. "Cotton for ye."

"_Rub a dub dub_," squawked the macaw.

"Aye!" Gibbs grinned. "Who's first?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Isaac ran a comb through his wet hair. The fresh clothing was a welcome change, he thought, admiring the crisp white linen of one of the fine shirts he'd brought back from London. Under the tan vest it was sharp, and he noted as he rolled back the cuff that already the tan was returning to his skin. Picking up his pack, he wandered back through the great hall where a tub had been set up.

On the way out he passed Anamaria and the helmsman—Roth—on their way in and raised a brow at them.

"Not one word," the woman warned.

He smiled and drew a thumb across his lips.

On his way up through the bowels of the ship, he passed clean-skinned and fresh-smelling pirates dressed in clean-smelling and fresh-looking clothes. Winking at Matelot and Ladbroc, both pausing in the rolling up of shirtsleeves to grin back at him, his heel lifted from the last landing. A sound forced him to halt, however, and he frowned, turning an ear toward the hall. Only silence came to him. He shrugged it off and was moving to step forward when a giggle stopped him. Elizabeth's giggle it was, he knew, and it was a sound that he knew as the happiness her husband brought to her heart. Smiling ruefully, he took the rest of the steps at a clip and emerged into the fresh night air.

To the captain's quarters he went, past the splish-splash of bathing pirates and mocking shouts of those waiting their own turn in the tubs. Nodding at Gibbs, he yanked open the doors. They clicked shut behind him. In the yellow lamplight he found Alice Witter at Jack's desk poring over an open book, ring of keys twirling 'round her finger. Thick rug underfoot padding his steps, he snuck up behind her and delighted in the fact that she didn't stir.

"Evening, m'lady."

With a gasp, she jumped, hand flying to her chest. Her face was as white as her curls as she whirled to face him. When her hand went to her mouth, he noticed the keys were gone and raised a brow, peering over her shoulder at the book she'd forgotten to close. Her hand shot behind to flip it shut. "Isaac Faust," she chirped, smiling sweetly, "what are you doing in here?"

"A good question," he said with a smile, glancing at the book, "but I'd venture an even better one to ask you."

"Why… whatever do you mean?" Her grey eyes grew wide 'fore she ducked her head. "Only reading…"

"Uh huh," he agreed, lifting her chin with his thumb. "What are you planning?"

"Oh!" She pouted, grey eyes flashing. "No matter what I do on this ship, someone suspects me of something! It's through no fault of mine that I get drawn into dramatics. It's simply dreadful how much I find myself in explosive situations but it isn't as if I _plan_ them!"

Taken aback, he let her go. "I'm sorry."

"You are not!" Huffing, she grabbed the book and slid it back into its spot on the shelf. "You're just saying it because I'm so ups—"

"I mean it," he cut her off, grabbing her up in a hug. "Not because you're upset but because I shouldn't be suspicious of you."

She sniffled and turned big grey eyes up at him. "Do you really mean it?"

"I do."

Alice smiled and hugged him back.

"You know," he said over her shoulder, "I don't really think your arguments with Jack are what I would call explosive."

"No," she agreed, "not usually."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack had kept the children busy with the hope that Elizabeth would keep their father busy. First he'd taken them down into the depths of the ship to sort through treasures in search of those suitable for gift-giving. He'd located his finest parchment and inking tools to help them create a card. Then, while the two young Turners amused themselves with teasing the two cats, he and Isaac had dragged four chairs toward the stern windows and tossed sailcloth and blankets over them to make a tent which the children, Ash, and Cinder promptly explored.

Jack had joined them as soon as he'd made sure they were alone. He'd spent too much time, told them too many tales and was in the middle of telling that of how he got the _Pearl_ back—as it was the one that the children never tired of hearing no matter how tired of telling it he was—when he heard footsteps. He paused in midsentence and turned toward the sound. Grumbling, he pushed the blue blanket up and peered out. Two pairs of feet—one in boots and the other dainty little shoes—greeted him. He looked up.

Alice Witter and Isaac Faust stared down at him.

"Yes?" Irritated that they'd found him in the makeshift tent he'd claimed was expressly for the Turner children, he raised his brows before they could raise theirs. "Is there something you needed?"

The two shook their heads.

"Good." With that, he let the blanket fall and turned back to the waiting Turners. "Where was I?"

"Untle Jat," Little Lucy whispered, "who's out there?"

"No one important," he said. "Now I believe I was at the part—"

"Untle Jat!"

He sighed and lifted the blanket to reveal the two sets of feet. "Isaac," he said, pointing at the toes of the boots, "and the Ice Queen." He flicked her ankle and smiled at the wide-eyed Little Lucy. A resounding slam shot a sharp pain from his hand to his elbow and his own eyes grew wide as the girl's, hooking to the smarting palm of the hand that was pressed painfully to the floor by Alice Witter's digging heel. Jack glared up at Alice as best he could manage. She shrugged, eyes widening innocently. Her nonchalance drew a growl into his throat, but he forced it back in favor of not loosing the whimper also lodged there. Jack grit his teeth.

The woman smiled and lifted her heel, turning on the other to whisk off. Jack winced, grabbing his hand up to examine the pink imprint. He realized with a tight lip that if she'd stomped harder, the godforsaken heel of her slipper would have impaled his hand. Smiling at the gaping children, he patted each on the head with his other hand and clambered from the tent, pushing Isaac out of his way. The lad grabbed his wrist and shook his head. Jack glared at him, yanking his arm free. His gaze settled on the woman's swaying, silk-covered arse. Bent over and picking through her trunk of belongings she was—humming no less—and it only served to stoke the fire flaming 'fore his eyes. Grabbing a black lacquer paddle—a token he'd taken on a recent trip to Singapore—he stalked toward her and hauled his arm back.

Alice chose that moment to stand and turn around. She arched a brow at the hovering paddle and reached up to take it from him. Examining the fine inlaid tortoise shell, she whistled. "Very nice, Jack. Artisan made. Fine quality."

"Not near as fine as the mark it leaves."

"Oh?"

"Would you like a demonstration?"

"I shall take your word for it. For now." She shrugged and handed it back to him. "I'd really love to stay and chat, but I'm quite sure it's my bath time. Ta!"

Jack's glare followed her as she made her regal ascent up the stairs. He grit his teeth, looking down at the paddle gripped in his hand still throbbing hand. Tossing the thing aside, he turned on his heel and found himself standing alone in the room save for the two cats perched on his bed. Their calm gaze he followed to the tent. As he stepped nearer, he heard the whispers that wafted from its shivering blue folds. With a grin he bent to pull back the blanket. Staring back at him were three wide-eyed faces. The whistle of air that meant something was swung through it pierced him and with wide eyes of his own he identified 'something' as the paddle from Singapore by the terrible thwack that stung his posterior.

Jack cussed under his breath. To his immediate horror, he felt his britches tugged down, baring his stinging rear to the night air. He glared over his shoulder at the woman examining the welt she'd put there.

Alice nodded. "You're right about that mark, Jack."

The two lads chuckled.

Jack's glare fell upon them.

"Untle Jat?" Little Lucy inched forward and put her little hands on both sides of his face. "You otay?"

"Yes, little love, I'll be okay." He reached back and yanked his pants up over his rump, glaring over his shoulder at the smiling woman. "Though I can't say the same for other people at the moment."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

In the midst of the confusion that was bath time on the _Black Pearl_, pirates bobbing in baths of bubbles or scrubbing suds into the hair of their less-inclined crewmates, hearing the shrill shriek of a woman could only mean more trouble. Gibbs watched, with a weary eye, as Alice Witter flew out the doors of the captain's quarters. Clutching a cloth sack to her bosom she hurtled toward them, eyes wide. Tailing her was the captain, red-faced and decidedly angry.

Pirates shouted, jumping back as the two raced past. The captain gained on the woman and grabbed her trailing skirt. She shrieked as they struggled. Her foot slipped on a bar of soap. Pirates shouted and leapt out of the way as they went skidding across the deck on the slippery planks toward the toweled legs of a stock-still Samson. The growling, screeching duo slid cleanly between the towering man's ankles.

"Sorry," Jack shouted over his shoulder, fending off a slap from the Witter woman. She freed herself from his grasp and shot forward into the stairwell that led below. He followed with a growl, disappearing from view.

Gibbs and Samson shrugged.

"Whoa!"

Their eyes widened.

A loud, fast tumble of thumps and curses followed the captain's surprised shout. It was punctuated with a resounding thud. Silence reigned for a second that seemed to stretch forever, and then there came the unmistakable hard crack of flesh slapping flesh.

Samson and Gibbs winced.

"I did _not_ deserve that!"

Quiet laughter swept the deck of the _Black Pearl_. Gibbs and Samson sighed, shaking their heads. "Women," they intoned together.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack paused in his chase to smile brightly at two of his crew. As they nodded, he leapt down the steps to the landing, grabbing hold of the laces up the woman's back and yanking her backwards. She shrieked and struggled. Jack grit his teeth. The elbow that landed in his gut knocked the wind out him. He fell back, clutching the railing as he watched her run. With a grimace he started after her, leaping stairs and rails to catch up. Desperate to beat her to the bottom, he hauled himself up and over the railing. He landed on his feet, a split second before hers touched the step. Alice gasped and Jack grinned.

"Fancy seein you here," he said, leering down at her. His brows snapped together. "Believe I owe you." Without another word, he hefted her over his shoulder, delighting in her kicking and screaming. "You'll be happy to know that I've a mind to pay you back, love. In full."

"Put me down, Jack Sparrow!"

Jack ignored her—and her flailing limbs—and carried her toward the hall where he knew the tub to be. To his amusement a towel-clad Roth and robed Anamaria passed them, eyes wide. "She likes playing dirty," he called over his shoulder, reaching up and slapping Alice on the rear. "So I figure it's time for her to come clean, as it were."

Alice squealed, beating harder on his shoulders as she realized where they were headed. "No! Jack, no!"

With a grin he dumped her into the tub. Dirty water splashed up and over her, sloshing through her dress. She gasped and shrieked, jumping up. Jack grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back down, despite her struggles, until she slipped under the water. When she sat up—drenched—he smiled down at her and walked away, brushing the water that had splashed up off of his hands.

He nodded at Anamaria and Roth, still wide-eyed and stunned still, as he passed them.

Anamaria stared after Jack as he strolled calmly up the stairs. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed Roth's wrist and tugged him toward the sloshing water and snarls she heard. Thrashing in the tub stood the Ice Queen soaked head to toe. Rivulets of bath water streamed down her face and neck, wetting her dress, once a fluffball of ruffles, and sticking it to her small frame. Looking down at it, she screamed and threw her head back. The wet white curls flung cold water at Anamaria. Fixing the woman with a dark look, she wiped the spray from her face.

"Do you see this? This—" Alice yanked furiously on the sopping gown, pulling out a panel of dripping skirt, "is French silk!"

"Looks like wet silk to me," Roth quipped, a smirk pulling the corner of his mouth up.

Anamaria smacked him and was glad to see the immediate apology on his face.

"Did I ask you?" Not bothering to wait for the answer, she wailed, trying in vain to wring the thing out still standing in the bathwater. She kicked the side of the tub, the cuss that tumbled from her lips turning to a howl. "Oh that ridiculous rapscallious rat!" She struggled out of the tub, took off her soaked slippers, and hurled them across the room. "Oh that slimy scoundrel Jack Sparrow!"

Anamaria jumped as one of the heels narrowly missed her head.

Roth, sensing he was the only reasonable party, stepped forward and took the wet woman's arm. "Calm down, Quee—Miss Witter. You're lookin like you might explode."

Alice glared at him even as she let him seat her on the small dressing bench. Then when he stepped cautiously away she folded her arms and lifted her chin. "You're right, Roth. I just might."

Anamaria smiled. "The plan is still on?"

"Oh, yes," Alice said, eyes narrow, "it's on."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack strolled cheerfully on deck, grinning at the various cheers that went up to mark his apparent victory. He ducked as a bar of soap slipped from the hands of a pirate and hurtled through the air at his head. A cry of alarm behind him made him wince and glance at the scowling Shakes, who—well, simply shook. Sighing, the captain surveyed the men. Most were clean, some were on their way, and all were generally jovial. Satisfied with such he made for his quarters.

Gibbs stopped him halfway, flagging him down with his flask.

Jack lifted a brow.

"Well it's just I been meanin to talk to ye, Cap'n." He leaned in and nodded. "Think the women are up to somethin."

"Yes I know, I know. The women are nothing but trouble," he said, reaching for the door. "You're always reminding me."

"No, Jack. Thinkin it's worse this time."

"It always is," Jack muttered, slipping through the doors and snapping the locking beam in place behind him.

He found Isaac and the children fast asleep in the tent, the two Turners curled up with the lad whose hand held an open storybook. Taking it, he sighed, sitting back on his heels. Toying with the tome in his hands, he looked upon the three of them, all fast asleep and cozied up. He smiled and let the blanket fall back.

It was much later when he sat in the tub of water Cook had warmed for him. He leaned back against the cool porcelain tub. Soothing it was just to sit there. Basking in the warmth he closed his eyes. The sound of a pitcher being dipped into the water forced them open to find Alice Witter setting it down on the floor. Kneeling beside him she was, her grey eyes soft as they met his. She leaned in and kissed his frown, drawing her fingertip under his chin. Not entirely convinced, Jack leaned back, gaze narrowing on her.

"I thought you could use some help with that hair of yours."

"I thought I said no one was to touch me hair." Watching her closely, he sighed when she shrugged and when she made to stand up he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Smile she did. Demure she was, ducking her head beneath the hood of her soft bathing cloak, as he let go of her. Her fingers reached to the back of his head and loosed the plait there. Jack luxuriated in the swoosh of free hair that fell over the rest. He smiled at her and watched as she readied the fine toiletries normally reserved for her own tresses.

"Come to your senses then?"

"Oh Jack," she said, lifting the pitcher, "you know better than that."

He smiled and tilted his head back. "You're right, love." The warm water that ran down the back of his neck elicited a soft murmur of contentment. Soft as it was it barely bespoke of the blessed bliss he was sinking in. When her fingers started to work their magic he sighed openly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Afterall, how might one come to their senses if they didn't have any sense at all to begin with?"

Jack flinched as her nails dug into his scalp. He glanced askance at her, and was relieved to see the guilty flush that had flushed her cheeks. Satisfied with both that and that her fingers eased again into their easy rhythm, Jack eased as well. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation. "Miss Witter?"

"Hmm?"

He fell silent and let her rinse the soap from his hair. When the warm water had sucked another sigh from his mouth, he opened his eyes and turned them toward her. "Old England is a wide world suited to a young man's wanderings."

"Mhm." She rinsed the last of the lather out and reached for another small jug of creame. "You didn't like it."

Jack tilted his head to accommodate her hands. "The lad's leaving London I did not expect."

"Mhm." She rubbed the creamy gel through his clean hair, fingertips massaging his scalp. "You left London."

They fell silent, Alice rinsing his hair then dipping her fingertips in the water and rinsing them. She picked up a small porcelain bowl and set it on the edge of the tub. Jack watched her pour a bit of light oil in, followed by a helping of clear tonic. She mixed it with a porcelain pestle. As she dipped her fingers into the bowl and reached for one of the long locks the infusion of sweet herbs filled the air. His gaze followed her hands as they worked up to the roots with the tincture. Soothing, it was, to the itchy skin of his scalp where the knots started.

"Well… _I_ expect Isaac missed his home."

"Home is where the heart is," he told her, glancing at the ship around them. "Mine was never in England. The _Pearl_ captured it."

"Mhm," she murmured, a smile playing upon her lips. "I know." When she finished, she leaned close and sniffed his head. A look of satisfaction on her face, she sat back on her heels and lifted her chin. "Goodnight."

Jack watched her gather her supplies and disappear into the darkness beyond the candlelight. When she was out of sight he picked up the bar of soap and went to work. A mite later he was heading to his cabin in the soft nightclothes he'd brought with him. It wasn't every night that he wore them but they did much improve his sleep on account of their soothing softness. On the stairs he passed the first hall where soft sounds of contentment brought a smile to his face and put a skip in his step. On deck he paused only to hand the pack of dirty clothes off to Cotton and to raise a brow at the tub brimming with bubbles and Gibbs. On his way to bed he blew out each lantern candle he passed. At long last he crawled under the warm, inviting covers, and with one final survey of the room—the three still sleeping in the tent and the two cats curling up at his side—he reached for the last candle on the table beside him and blew it out, sinking everything into darkness.


	20. A Humble Abode

The morning brought with it a warm glow of gold. Will was waked by the sun's reaching rays as they swept over him. He yawned and stretched, a broad smile breaking out upon his face. Brushing a soft kiss over his sleeping wife's temple, he sat up and surveyed the room. Save for the candles, it was in shambles. Cushions were tossed about. A chair lay in his way as he stood and picked through the mess. A wine bottle had spilled onto the floor, the garnet substance sticking flower petals to the planks—and to the shirt that had been discarded there. Picking it up, he raised his brows at the ruined thing and tossed it aside. It landed high on the armoire beside Elizabeth's silk slip. The undergarment hung rumpled on the upper shelf.

"So _that_ is where it ended up," he realized.

Shrugging, he dressed quickly and quietly. Though he wanted nothing more than to wake her and spend the rest of the day in wedded bliss, he knew that being mindful of her late morning hours was something of a necessity. His sanity, health, and well being depended upon his understanding of such, and so out the door he went with a mind to find his children and enjoy what seemed to be smooth sailing.

Emerging from the stairwell, he was immediately greeted by thunderous applause from the many pirates on deck. Whistles and hollers brought a sheepish smile to his face, and one pirate's mocking swiveling hips blushed his cheeks. Captain Jack Sparrow who had been shouting orders from the helm had stopped. Leaning against the railing, the pirate grinned down at him and tipped his hat.

"Good morning Mister Turner," he called with a sweeping bow, "I thank you for entertaining me crew for the eve! From what I hear, it must've been quite a performance."

"But not a quiet one," Lemmy remarked to Toddul.

"From what _we_ heard it was nothin short of amazin," Toddul agreed. The round man's chortle prompted the tall man's chuckle, and Shakes cupped a hand to his mouth to quiet his snickering.

Will flushed and averted his gaze as he passed the three of them. To his surprise, a giant hand clapped him across the back. He looked up to find Samson's warm green gaze upon him. A broad smile stretched the big man's mouth wide, and Will could not help but smile back.

"Nae wonder it was you was lookin out of sorts in Tortuga," Samson said, winking. "And I'd thought it was wenches you was worried about. Didn't know you had yourself a wife to be worrying your head over!"

"With Elizabeth, I wouldn't rule out the wench thing, mate."

Will glared at Jack as he and Samson reached the top of the steps. But the pirate's laughing dark eyes brought a grin to his face, and he nodded, allowing the big man to laugh and jostle his shoulder a bit. Suddenly, staring down at the deck, he realized that Jack's boots were missing. In their place were two fine heeled shoes, much like the ones Elizabeth insisted Will wear to her high society gatherings. They were dressed in deep indigo brocade and embellished with fine onyx buckles, buttons, and heels. Raising his head, he took in the pirate's appearance, impressed for he could not remember the last time he'd seen the man as smartly appointed.

Jack's stockings were a pale shade of grey. To Will they seemed silky enough, the very expensive sort suited to the shoes as well as to the rest of the ensemble. The breeches were fine linen, indigo in color, with a narrow strip of brocade down each side. They matched the full-skirted fancy coat, a frock dressed in onyx and dark grey embroidery. Pale grey lace peeked out of his cuffs. At his throat was the same shade, a cravat of finery, ruffling there in the breeze. A fine blue tricorne, adorned with a bit of matching embroidery, perched upon his glossy hair. The beads, baubles, and locks remained but looked somehow kempt, and the rest was loose save for the neatly braided plait at the back tied with a pale grey ribbon. The dark grey line that showed under that of the hat Will knew was linen printed with indigo ink, and he raised his brows, meeting the pirate's level gaze.

"What do you think?" Jack flicked a very clean, lean hand out and turned side to side, the frock's skirt swaying around his swiveling hips. "Is it me?"

Will smiled. "I think it is."

The pirate's mustache twitched up to reveal a glint of gold and he winked at him.

Samson chuckled. "Those are some nice stockings there, Jacky. Think I could borrow em?"

Jack looked from the big man's big legs to his and lifted his chin. "No." He tossed his hair and motioned at the differences with his hands. "You'd stretch them out."

Will sniffed the air—finding a sweetly herbal and slightly spicy musk there—and frowned at him. "You smell… good."

Jack raised a brow.

The blacksmith blushed.

"Are you insinuating that on the usual occasion my personal hygiene is subpar or otherwise malodorous, William Turner?"

"Malodorous ain't the word," Gibbs said, rushing toward Jack with a copper spyglass. He handed it to him and nodded out to sea. "Think we're on the right course, Cap'n."

All of them turned as the captain took the instrument to his eye and peered through it toward the island ahead. Will frowned, seeing the mountains there. Black as coal and glistening under the sun the rocks rose into the blue sky, piercing it with purple peaks. Across the short distance the silver palms swaying in the breeze were easily discernible from the rest of the deep darkness of the place, and Will gazed at them, their shivering fronds lulling him into a trance. Jack's snapping shut the spyglass snapped him from his stupor and his questioning gaze turned toward the pirate as he was quite sure that in all of their travels Jack had never taken him to the island that lay straightaway in their path.

With a glance at the smiling Samson, Jack slung his arm around Will's shoulders and nodded toward the nearing inlet. It passed through the very mountains, a wide mouth of black rock breathing in the lightly lapping ocean water. The pirate indicated the strange landscape with a sweeping hand, flicking the air in front of them. "This, Mister Turner," he said, dark eyes gleaming as he turned them to the blacksmith, "is where the _Black Pearl_ makes berth."

Will raised his brows.

Jack raised his.

"If this is where the _Black Pearl_ makes berth, what of Isle de Muerta?"

"Isle de Muerta. Ah yes. The island that cannot be found _except_ by those who already know where it is. Well that," Jack said, laying a hand on his hip, "was but a stepping stone in the path for us, really. It's only a hop, skip, and a jump away if it be the destination you prefer. I know its empty, damp caverns are extremely hospitable!"

"All the charm of the devil's pit, that place has," Gibbs muttered. He took a slug from his flask and nodded at the three men who glanced his way.

Will turned curious eyes back to Jack. "A stepping stone?"

"Aye," Jack said with a grin, "a stepping stone."

While the pirate turned back to his crew to shout orders, Will followed Gibbs and Samson to the rail to look out over the side of the ship. The mountains were receding quickly to reveal a hidden lagoon. It was not unlike that of the Witter's on Tortuga but unlike it altogether. Will counted no less than five waterfalls. Two bubbled nearby and the three that cut the black rocks ahead were but whispering white. Mist they were and mist they rose at their hissing pools. The sun shone a prism into the fine haze, and painted the water liquid gold. Rippling waves lapped at the surrounding beaches of black sand, shimmering over it as they washed the shore.

"Special place it is," Samson said softly. "Aye, missed it, I did."

"You were here?"

The big man sniffled. Reaching up to wipe his eye, he nodded.

"With Jack?"

"Aye, with Jack." Samson smiled. "And your father."

Wind knocked from his lungs, Will turned away. His gaze fell upon a floating dock, made of vines and bark, reaching toward them. He was not surprised when he felt the _Pearl_ ease to an anchored rest beside it. As the ship's sails and lines were attended to, and as Jack grabbed the big man and Gibbs aside to give them their own orders, Will took the moment to stroll toward the stern of the ship and look out over it all. He took a deep breath. Exhaling, he closed his eyes.

Against the darkness Will saw before him the image of the man in his dreams. Fire filled his lungs as his hand went to the portrait in his breastpocket. The man's golden eyes twinkled and with a wink he was gone, quick as could be. Startled by the animate gesture, Will jumped. Heelsteps toward him he heard and in the blink of an eye he found Jack standing beside him, a sobriety in the pirate's eyes as they swept the perimeter of the place around them.

"You might want to wake Elizabeth."

Will hesitated, then nodded and started away. He turned back at Jack's nervous clearing of his throat. At the pirate's worried expression—drawn brows and pursed lips—he frowned.

"But," said Jack, "I think it's rather important you forget to mention that such was my suggestion."

Watching Will walk away, weary of the thought of a forcibly woken Mrs. Turner, Jack bit his cheek. He waited until the man disappeared from view to head for his cabin. Pulling back the doors, he heard quiet whispers. With narrowed eyes he pushed past the drapes and came face to face with two women gone silent. Anamaria and Alice Witter looked up at him. Blank-faced they were, save for two fast quirks of a smile.

"Are we there yet?"

As it had been the question that the Turner children would not stop asking—even when he'd threatened them with the terrible task of cleaning the bilges with their mother's hairbrush—Jack scowled at the woman who'd dared utter the phrase and folded his arms. "We are."

Alice smiled. "Good. The children will be happy to hear it."

"Not as happy as I." With that, he pushed past the two of them and made to find the youngsters crowding his cabin. They were sitting on his bed with the cats waiting patiently, Isaac standing quietly by. At this he raised a brow.

All eyes locked on him. Isaac's eyes were hopeful. The children fidgeted and the cats' tails swished. After a momentary silence, Little Lucy screwed up her face and kicked her brother. Jack Turner sighed and turned pleading eyes toward the pirate captain studying them.

"Are we there yet?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Pleased that it would be the last time he heard such from the lad's lips, Jack grinned. He crossed the space between he and the children and bent down close to them. Eyeing first the girl and then the boy, he nodded. "Aye, we have at long last reached our destination. And if I ever hear that question again, it will be too soon."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Are we there yet?"

Elizabeth's question brought a smile to Will's lips as he quite imagined Jack had been asked such from their children far too many times. He kissed her cheek and took her hand in his. "We are, love." He frowned. "Though where we are is still slightly questionable."

"Must I really get up?"

"Well I—"

She groaned into her pillow. "It is so early, Will. Surely there is much to be done that I will only stand in the way of."

"But I—"

"Will," she said sharply, yanking her hand away, "really, do you not agree that I would only be a hindrance?"

He fell silent.

"Wake me later," she murmured, pulling the cover over her head.

Will gulped and pulled it back down, cowering away when she turned to face him. In the morning, when his wife slept, she was the picture of beauty. In the morning, when his wife was waked on terms not her own, she was the picture of wrath. Now her lip twisted and her eyes flashed at him, challenging him to contest her snooze. He swallowed, regretting the words before they even left his lips. "Captain's orders."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Do you think he heard?"

The Ice Queen scoffed.

Anamaria grabbed her arm and fixed her with a glare that she hoped conveyed the seriousness of her question. When understanding dawned in the woman's eyes, she let go of her and folded her arms across her chest. "Well?"

"No, Anamaria, I do not think he heard," she said, twisting the key in the lock and pushing open the door, "else he'd have come here, taken the boxes, and stood behind us with a smirk on his face." With a roll of her eyes, she turned toward the pile of crates. Satisfied, she nodded at them and then at the woman beside her.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"You took care of it?"

Roth watched as Jack secured his maps and ledgers in the lock box below the desk. He smiled at Gibbs as the last, a black leather book, was tossed in. "Aye, we did."

Gibbs' blue eyes sparkled. "A spot of good luck it was that Roth's spent so much time with Marie."

The young helmsman smiled sheepishly as the captain whirled to grin at him with the other sailor. He shrugged. "Figure all's fair in love and war."

Captain Jack Sparrow grimaced. "Rather hard to figure which it is with those women."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"War, Anamaria," Alice said, smiling at Jack across the deck, "that's what it always is."

The other woman did not respond, for she was busy scowling at the men who hollered at her for her sudden change of appearance. It had been the captain's request she wear a dress, and though she had vehemently stated that such was not about to happen, she'd ended up borrowing a gown from Elizabeth. They were nearer in size than she and the small woman walking beside her. A good thing it had been, for if Anamaria had had to wear one of the Ice Queen's frilly frocks, she would have died on the spot. Elizabeth, at least, knew that less was sometimes more. The yellow gown she'd borrowed was simple. Its bodice was high and its skirt dropped fairly straight to her ankles. There were no sleeves, and the only decoration was a silk rosette under the plunging back.

Alice Witter's gown was lovely to look at as well, but much too much for Anamaria's tastes. Dark grey it was, a grand gown of silk ruffles with a too tight bodice. Its decorations were many, from the pearl trim across her chest to the matching buttons up her back, and its skirt composed of too many layers of sheer silk and lace. They fell fairly straight as well, but as they were all individual panels, they flowed around and behind the woman's hips and legs. There was much movement in the gown, and Anamaria thought that if it were her wearing such a thing, she would be much too conscious of it.

"How can you stand that thing?"

Alice frowned down at her dress. "Jack had this made for me on holiday. A sweet seamstress in Bombay. She's _the_ talk of London."

Anamaria rolled her eyes.

"It's a beautiful dress!"

"And I didn't say otherwise, did I?"

Alice shrugged. "I rather like it. It's the only gown I have that is touched with black pearls."

"They _are_ rare," Anamaria conceded.

"Yes," Alice said, smirking as she ran a hand over the rail of the ship, "they are."

Jack stood, watching the women from afar, when he heard Elizabeth's heels join the noise on deck. He glanced askance at the Turners headed his way and was relieved to see a brilliant smile on the woman's face. She looked lovely, he thought, on the arm of her husband. Both were dressed to match. Elizabeth's gown, a silk thing in a fetching shade of peach, rather suited her morning afterglow, he decided. Will's chocolate colored ensemble, with the peach embroidered vest he'd had made in Bombay, was one of his favorites on the lad, and he was pleased to see it on him. He smiled at the two of them as they neared and tipped his hat at the woman.

"Morning Jack," she said sweetly.

The pirate raised his brows at Will when she pecked his cheek, but the blacksmith looked away. Jack shrugged and returned the kiss to Elizabeth's soft knuckles. "A lovely one at that."

"Oh yes," she said, "I was very happy to wake to it."

"Why have you brought us here?"

Jack followed Will's gaze to the floating dock. His crew, accustomed to the custom, had already started hauling crates and barrels ashore. In fact, he was quite certain they had everything that he'd specified off of the ship and most of it to its destination. He smiled. "For your birthday of course. Had to outdo the Governor, you know."

"My father," Elizabeth said, arching a brow, "celebrates birthdays with claret and croquet."

Jack smiled. "Yes, I know. But Will _likes_ to play croquet." He pretended not to notice the dark look shot his way and flicked a hand toward the gangway where stood the couple's waiting children. "Let's be off 'fore they start their squawking, aye?"

It took much convincing from 'Untle Jat' to get Lucy down the planks, over the dock, and ashore, but the pirate had somehow managed despite the several high pitched shrieks Will knew were much to close to his ear. When Jack had handed the girl off to Elizabeth, Will had fallen into step beside him, glancing down in wonder at the black sand around the stone path they were walking on.

"You've a jar of it at home."

Will looked up at the pirate. The jar he'd never mentioned to Jack. It had never sat in the pirate's sight for he kept it in a small wooden box in his and Elizabeth's bedroom. That the pirate knew of it warmed his heart, as surely it meant his father had sent at least some sentiment with the sediment. He nodded at his friend, words evading him.

The silver palms were as breathtaking up close as from afar, and he thought the sound of the breeze rustling through them was the essence of peace. If heaven were but a sound it would be the sweet "_ahhhh_" of the air that seemed to breathe rather than blow. On the trail through paradise they wandered until at last Will stepped under the frond Jack held for him and into a clearing.

Jack waited till Elizabeth and the children had stepped through to let the palm snap back. He took off his hat and laid it over his heart, eyes reverent on the vista ahead. "And there it is. Our humble abode."

"There is nothing humble," Alice Witter snapped, batting the palm that had snapped in her face away, "about it."

For once Will had to agree with the woman. Humble certainly did not describe the sprawling fortress of rock that looked more like a castle than anything he'd ever laid eyes upon. Set against the rise of rocky hill it was and around it swept its walls of smooth black cobblestone that gleamed in the sunlight like bubbling tar. A round tower rose high in the air, and atop it Will already saw a group of crewmen looking out over the land.

His son followed his gaze and his eyes lit with the sight.

"Don't even think about it," Elizabeth warned.

Will saw the boy's shoulders droop but he was glad that the lad did not contest his mother's warning. Instead, he gawked as he walked, occasionally stepping on Jack's heels, and earning a stern look from his father in turn, in his haste to get to the wide-open entrance. As they neared it, Will noted that it was gated with fancy black scrollwork—the pieces he recognized as a commission he'd received from a secretive buyer whose order had been placed by an equally secretive man who wore a ridiculous wig and too many rings. With a frog in his throat the man had claimed the work was for a wealthy Frenchman who'd settled in the Spanish Main and was busy spending his riches on the restoration of what he called "an opulent ordinance of an ostentatious oasis". The design that the man laid out on the table had been extensive and the work had taken Will many months to complete. Despite that, he'd finished it faster than he'd thought he would and sent it off. The Frenchman had been pleased by the caliber of work and timeliness with which Mâitre Turner had fulfilled the order and had sent a note with a bounty of thanks to tell him so. He'd signed it himself, Jacques Moineau de la Perlenoire scrawled in red ink.

Will noted one of the twisting iron vines and cast a dark look at the pirate.

Jack's eyes widened innocently. "What?"

"I made that gate for a Frenchman!"

Elizabeth gave him a dubious look.

"I did! Don't you remember? Twas a commission for—"

"_Jacques Moineau_?" Elizabeth's eyes danced with light. "_De la Perlenoire_?"

Will frowned at his wife and friend as they chuckled together. In the moment it took to gather his wits, Jack had led the group into the fortress, and Will had to hurry to catch up. He did, quickly, and fixed the pirate with a glare. "What is so funny?"

The pirate sighed sadly. Shaking his head, he laid a light hand on Will's shoulder. "You really should think about learning some French, Will."

Will would have responded had his breath not caught in his throat. Palace the place must have been, for the great round room before them, with its vaulted ceiling and mosaic tiled floor both richly inlaid with jewel tones that seemed to sparkle as gems even in the soft light filtering through the circling tall lancet windows, was truly an 'opulent' space. There stood in the center an ivory likeness of Venus, bejeweled sash covering her naked form as her loving face glowed at the gilded sparrow set in her hand. Three open vaulted doors set at intervals of two windows were encased with lovely golden sculptures of various goddesses enclosed in the arch and above the lintel of each of them, rich as any cathedral's scriptural tympanums, and seemed to lead to equally palatial spaces.

"It's beautiful," Elizabeth breathed, taking his hand.

Wordlessly, Will smiled at both her and their wide-eyed daughter and followed Jack through the door at the right, glancing up at the statuary briefly to read the inscription of _Prospicere de Fortuna_ under the scene. The walls of the hall they walked through were worn but the trompe l'oeil of fine cartography upon them wasn't, its swirling lines of indigo and black script bright over a wash of sand. Will recognized the work and looked forward to Jack. The pirate, fluttering fingertips on the left wall, drew his attention to one of the detailed illustrations.

Beside the island labeled Jamaica was painted a portrait of a small family. Meticulous in detail it was, and as he neared it, he saw immediately that it was his own family on the wall. There stood he and Elizabeth, dressed in the exact finery they wore as they stood in the hall, with the children gathered in front of them. Happy faces had all. Behind them was a feather light painting of a ship he quickly accepted as the _Black Pearl_, and below them a banner marked with their family name in dark, fancy letters.

"It's us," Jack said, reaching up at his mother to pat his sister's hand excitedly, "look Lucy!"

On an ordinary day Will would have been stunned by the brotherly fashion in which his son had shone excitement, but it was not an ordinary day. He watched, instead as Jack Sparrow traced a line with his ringed finger from their portrait up to the right. A small compass rose, set between two far-off islands, lay under the pirate's tapping finger.

"You," Jack said, pointing to Will with the other hand, "are here."

"Does here have a name?"

"Well," said the pirate, going to and throwing open the double doors of gold at the end of the corridor, "we never rightly named the place. L'Ile de la Perle Noire is what they call it."

"They?"

Flashing a smile over his shoulder, Jack disappeared into the next room. Will followed, glancing worriedly at the formidable statue of Neptune and its candlelit altar as they passed it. It was a thing of wonder, the serene God ruling with his terrific trident over the entire place. Will ran fingertips over an amethyst orb upon the altar.

"For energy of the mind."

Will looked up at the pirate framed against swagging silken material and nodded, having heard from many jewel experts the same thing of that particular precious gem. "And spirit."

Jack smiled and turned on his heel. Another set of doors he opened to reveal a village far as the eye could see. Small cobblestone houses dotted the landscape along the foot of the mount. Smoke billowed in the air, a heady aroma of herbs and spices scenting it. There were the sounds of laughter, of music, and chatter, and it was as those met Will's ears that he saw the beautiful people. Long limbed with luxuriously glossy hair they were, and of olive complexion. Simple of dress they were, draped in silks and linen and some tinkling jewelry.

Nearby a group of children with gleaming white smiles danced and laughed together, their strange language enticing Will's ears. He was disappointed when they hushed suddenly and bowed their heads, but he did not wonder at the reason for their reverence. It was but seconds later when a robed woman appeared. A golden circlet held her hair piled on her head, and kohl lined her black eyes. Flanked by two dark young men and followed by three dark young women, she passed calmly and quietly between himself and the pirate, head bowed. Will watched the procession with interest, raising his brows as they knelt before the God of the Sea, their quiet words whispering in the even quieter chapel.

"The Intuits," Jack whispered, leaning close to Will.

Will cocked his head, having not heard the name before.

Jack smiled. "The sacred people of Neptune."

"They made Jacky their chief."

Will and Jack frowned and turned to find a grinning Samson towering over them. Will recovered first and arched a brow at Jack. The pirate flashed a golden grin and shrugged, fluttering fingertips nonchalantly in the air.

"Something about being handsomely charming, dashing, daring, and blindingly brilliant." His brow furrowed. "Or perhaps it was charmingly handsome, dashingly daring, and blindingly brilliant."

"Your father turned them down," Samson clarified.

Will bit back a snicker at the look of dismay on Jack's face.

Recovering quickly, Jack dismissed the words with a flick of his hand. "Details."

It was then that the group of sacred people in the chapel stood. The robed woman who Will guessed was something of a priestess smiled softly as she approached them. Reaching Jack she took his hand, pressed his knuckles to her forehead, and bowed. When she rose, her lips parted and a language unlike any other but like all spilled from her lips. Though Will did not know the words he knew their meaning. He understood though he did not. The matter was fascinating and he found that he could not take his eyes off of the peaceful priestess.

"Jack." Her black eyes gleamed at the smiling pirate as she spoke. "We have missed you greatly and are happy to see you are home. We are happy also that you have brought with you our Sweet Queen." She gave a slight bow and left the place, as did the other robed persons.

Samson blinked. "Sweet Queen?"

Jack's smile twisted. "Alice Witter. But don't tell her. No doubt it would go to her head."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Apparently the state of Jack's head is wonk with inflation."

Alice and Anamaria were staring at the new self-portrait on the wall mural. Captain Jack Sparrow had been painted there, his chest a bit broader, arms a bit bigger, and chin a bit stronger. Beautiful olive-skinned women strove to touch and pander to him. Two women, different from the rest, looked rather familiar. A pale doll pressed lasciviously to his left and a dark mynx to his right. Both women were garbed in their sailing attire—their too tight sailing attire with gapingly low necklines. The exotic beauty on the right held in her outstretched hand a bunch of grapes. A golden goblet of wine was clenched in the hand of the other woman. A flock of sparrows swirled around them all. Flying overhead were cherubs, their chubby hands extended toward the handsome pirate with the dashing grin.

"The state of Jack's head," Anamaria scoffed,"is somethin I try not to think about."

Alice snorted.

"Pretty."

The women turned to find Little Lucy smiling upon the portrait from the warmth of her mother's arms. The little girl's dark eyes examined the ladies and turned toward them, a small smile curving her little lips. She giggled and pointed at their feet in the painting where two cats, one dark and one grey, rubbed against their ankles.

"Tats!"

"Someone thinks highly of himself," Elizabeth said, arching her brow at the scene painted before her. "Though I can't say I'm too surprised by the notion."

Anamaria chuckled.

"Uncle Jack looks funny," Jack Turner decided, shaking his head. "Look, he's got a butt chin!"

All four females looked discerningly upon the portrait at the spot of which the lad was speaking. Little Lucy gasped and clapped her hands delightedly, her mother smiling a coy smile at she and the other women, both of who tittered with the giggles over such an accurate description of the chin's depiction. Anamaria gave the boy's shoulder a squeeze and Alice patted his head fondly.

"What's funny?"

The pirate, flanked by a dazed Will Turner and the big man Samson, strolled to stand behind them, his gaze flicking over the assembled group and settling finally upon the painted portrait. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. As if deep in thought, he raised his hand to the beard on his chin, mouth twisting.

The women shared a look, and promptly bit on their lips so as not to laugh. Little Lucy, not so keen on the art of secrecy, giggled openly. Whether Jack Turner was keen to said art was unknown but whatever the case was he hooted with laughter, clutching his sides.

His father stepped forward, peering over Jack's shoulder. His gaze fell upon the portrait and his eyes narrowed. They filled with the scene, widening all the while. Raising his brows, he glanced at the pirate holding his chin and then at the likeness on the wall. Samson did much of the same. At long last, the big man's mouth crooked.

"Ne'er did I think I'd say this, but ye've an eye for beauty, Jacky," he said, lip quivering. "Seems you see it in things the rest of us don't."

"Aye?" Jack frowned at the picture and then at the big man. "While I do agree I've always had an eye for aesthetics, that's hardly nice, mate. People can't be blamed for what nature gave them—or didn't in this case." The pirate didn't seem to notice the pitying looks the others were giving him, or the laughter that had his namesake rolling on the floor, as he poked at Samson with a pointed fingertip. "Therefore you should apologize to the ladies."

Samson, having opened his mouth to do so, froze. His gaze, along with that of the two women, cut to the portrait's likeness of both. Finding nothing emphasized—save for the cut of clothes and too low necklines that only showed what was naturally endowed—they blinked. Anamaria, having had enough of the pirate's nonsense, reached out and cracked him hard across the face. With a humph she took Alice Witter's arm and together they marched down the hall and through the doors. Jack stared after them, a look of dismay on his face as he rubbed his tender jaw.

"I definitely didn't deserve that."

"Well," said Samson, "you _were_ only bein nice."

"Women just don't appreciate my abundant capacity for compassion," Jack complained, pushing aside a Lucy-lugging Elizabeth to step over the Turners' laughing son. "Perhaps," he added sadly, "chivalry _is_ dead."

Will, having the sixth sense that men without wives had not, grabbed his own growling wife and held her back. She glared at him over Little Lucy's head. He gulped, hoping that her anger from the morning waking had subsided as he was quite sure if it hadn't he would not be able to restrain her for much longer. The oblivious pirate, walking back toward the round room, sighed again and put his hands on his hips.

"Mister Turner," he drawled over his shoulder, "I've things to show you and yours but I fear there's just not enough time in the day… Are you coming or not?"

Samson, having the seventh sense that men without wives had not, patted Will on the shoulder and hurried to catch up to the pirate ahead. "They're comin. Just admirin your paintin's all."

"And who could blame them?"

"Aye," he grinned down at Jack. "A regular Raphael you are."

"Well," Jack said, flicking a hand in the air, "personally, I think I'm more of a Michaelangelo."

"Every minute goes by finds me wantin night to fall faster."

Alice smiled grimly.

"Why ye wantin night to fall faster, love?"

Anamaria paled upon hearing that voice in her ear. Her gaze fell to the lean arm snaking around her waist. For Roth's benefit she forced a nervous chuckle. "Now why would ya be askin a question like that?" Putting on a smirk, she turned 'round to wink at him. "One ya already know the answer to?"

The young man grinned and kissed the woman, but Alice's eyes narrowed on him. She lifted her chin and studied the rake. Her stare was quick and decisive. Finding nothing she could discern as being out of the ordinary for the helmsman, she shrugged and left them to their smooching. Afterall, she still had to find Gibbs and treat him to the onceover before night fell.

_**Author's Babble:** Moineau is French for 'sparrow'. De la Perlenoire is, of course, a play upon 'of the Black Pearl'. _

_Many thanks to Eledhwen for her correction of my French regarding "De la Perlenoire" as well as "L'Ile de la Perle Noire". They were previously "De le Perlenoire" and "Le Isle de le Perle Noire" which are incorrect, but because she was nice enough to let me know, they stand corrected! A perfect peach that Eledhwen. Thank you :)_

_Venus is for all intensive purposes the Roman equivalent of Aphrodite. Jack has a statue of Aphrodite standing near the stern windows of the Black Pearl, and so I decided to use the goddess' counterpart for this instance. Aphrodite/Venus is associated with sparrows, doves, and swans. She is the goddess of love and sexuality. Oddly enough she was married to the smith god Hephaestus, steadiest of the Gods. He made a golden girdle for her, and wove magic into the filigree. That bit of Aphrodite/Venus' story reminds me much of Elizabeth and Will. The rest of it doesn't, as Aphrodite/Venus did not enjoy marriage to Hephaestus and used the girdle to attract the fancy of whomever she deemed more exciting. But more importantly, I think Jack rather fancies the goddess of love. Perhaps it is the Pepé le Pew in him, no?_

_Fortuna is the Roman goddess of luck. She represented fate and all its unknown qualities. She is said to have been blindfolded as she dealt fate and thus "Sight of Fortuna" is a rather optimistic inscription. She is symbolized by the sphere, the wheel, the ship's rudder and prow, and, because she was once considered the goddess presiding over the Earth's abundance, the cornucopia. Luck seems to be a favorite theme for the pirates and so Fortuna is an important figure to mention._

_The Intuits, sacred people of Neptune, don't exist—as far as I know. Though amethyst is said to be a stone of spiritual energy and psychic ability. The Roman myths did not really put much emphasis upon Neptune. And the Greek myths of Poseidon make him seem a crotchety sort. But in astrology, Neptune is associated with spiritual enlightenment and intuition(thus Intuits), mercy and compassion, and psychic receptivity. Negatively speaking, Neptune is associated with illusion and confusion: deception, trickery, and guilt. Which, by the way, all traits that have their place in this tale. Funny, that._


	21. Remnants of the Past

Opposite _Prospicere de Fortuna_ was another door. Holding Elizabeth's hand, Will allowed the two pirates and his gleeful son the lead toward it, watching as Jack Sparrow stopped to chat up the ever-silent Venus. Samson wrapped a strong arm around the statue and smiled wickedly at her glowing visage much to the delight of the two bearing the same name. Young Jack pointed toward the bird in the woman's hand. Lace fluttered against a tan wrist as the elder Jack fluttered fingertips over it, bending low to say something to the lad. Whatever it was, Will's son nodded brightly and piped up a response of his own that earned a vigorous nod and squeeze of his shoulder from the pirate.

In the time that it took his child-toting wife to cross a short space, Will glanced about the magnificent room again. He found that the tile's pattern of indigo swirl against white rather looked like ocean waves, and that the golden starburst in the center seemed a gilded compass rose. The lancet windows, circling the space high above, each had their own pattern of color. Four were of the same make, their pretty pattern of birds swirling together against an amethyst sea of glass. The other four were different.

With a narrow eye Will noted that each long pane depicted its own patron and that each round oculus presented that patron's appropriate insignia. There was at the head of the room, upon the wall opposite the entrance, a window that depicted a grand, dark ship cutting through the churning blue waves. The crest that decorated most of Captain Jack Sparrow's official parchment, the crest of the _Black Pearl_, shone in the oculus above. The second depicted a blue, gold-touched vessel floating in silver water under the glow of the ashen moon. It looked much like the _Odessa_. Will did not have to guess at the insignia above, for he knew as most in the Caribbean knew that the lilies twining around kissing doves were the Witter seal. The third was most certainly the _Celamar_, a dark little beauty sailing smooth upon the gentle blue sea. Above it gleamed in the round window Anamaria Soledad's phoenix rising over the setting sun. The last showed a sleek brown ship, the smallest of all—

"So nice of you to show up."

The pirate's drawl interrupted his inspection and Will jumped, startled by the close proximity of the man's voice. His gaze fell and he found that he'd nearly stepped upon Jack Sparrow's toes. The pirate glanced down as he did and raised his brows as well.

"It's a good thing you stopped. One more step further and you'd have surely done me harm as it seems you've lead in your shoes."

"Please," Elizabeth said, eyes flashing, "forgive us, Captain Sparrow. For it is not so easy to keep pace—" she grimaced, shifting Lucy's weight to her other hip, "at the moment."

"Yes, I know," Jack said, slipping through the doorway, "toting tots is a torturous task."

Will ignored the dark look his wife shot at he and the pirate. Instead he glanced up at the inscription under the statuary and read it. _Caloris de Vesta _it said. "Warmth of Vesta. The Goddess of the Hearth?"

"Yes," Jack said with a smile, "the homeliest goddess of all."

"But not the homiest hall of all," Elizabeth muttered.

Will arched a brow and cast a critical eye upon their surroundings. He had felt the damp, dead air as well as smelt it as soon as he'd stepped forward a foot, but as disconcerting as it was, he had not thought it strange. For all the odd smells he'd encountered on his many travels with Jack Sparrow's pirates had dulled his olfactory senses to such, and damp death was as likely upon a ship as any other. It nearly surprised him to find that the place through which they were passing was in such a dank state of decay.

The walls were unpainted. They were dark and dingy and crumbling a bit more. Debris lay along the edge of the floor. Past the second wall lantern was a branching crack, and past that, a chunk of wall high above was missing, a pile of rock on the floor below. The double doors at the end of the passage were of the same design of those in the other hall, but their luster was lost. Coated in a thick patina of soot and grime the gold was, and some of the precious metal plating was altogether gone, revealing the rotting wood beneath it.

Jack reached toward the broken doorhandle and sighed, shaking his head. He slipped a golden skeleton key into its hole and twisted until a click echoed around them. Pieces of gold crumbled off the doors as he pushed them open. He tsked and stepped aside to let those behind follow through. When they had, he shut the doors with gentle hands and cautiously turned the key in the lock. After a moment of terse silence, he withdrew the key. Seemingly satisfied that there had been no more lost gold, he put the key in his pocket. The proud pirate turned on his heel just as a shower of gold shimmer rained down behind him. Face falling, he frowned over his shoulder at the settling dust. With a shrug he sashayed forward, ignoring the curious gaze of the waiting party.

They stood in another dilapidated hall, this one lined with lancet windows. Stained glass they were. At the very least, their beautiful colors sparkled pretty upon the ugly walls and diffused translucent tones in the yellow glow of candlelight. Opposite them came Cook, lugging a jug in his arms, and behind him several pirates lugging crates. They disappeared into the wall before them, and Will frowned.

"The kitchen," Jack said, motioning toward the arched hole in the wall.

Through it, Will looked and raised his brows. The pirates were counting crates and jugs. Cook took a list from his pocket and laid it upon the long tiled buffet table, pushing at his spectacles as he marked something off. The man's kitchen was stocked with hanging racks of pots and pans, stacks of fine china, and big metal ovens. Already glowing red was the fire pit, a pig roasting over it on a wooden spit.

"No!"

Little Lucy's scream made everybody jump, including a glowering Cook who Will imagined might have stormed to the door and shut it in their very faces had there been a door to shut. Smiling nervously at the man, Will looked sharply to his daughter and, finding her face drained of color, frowned at her. She did not notice, for her wide eyes were fixed upon the dead animal with the apple stuffed in its mouth.

"Not a piggie," she whimpered.

"No little love, that's not a piggie, it's a swine, big difference really, and actually they're not very nice—"

"It is a piggie," Jack cut Jack off, folding his arms over his chest.

The pirate looked down at the lad, dismayed. "It is a _swine_."

"It's a piggie," the lad declared, turning a defiant nose up at his sister, "and we're going to eat it!"

Little Lucy's wail was worse than her scream. The pirates winced. Jack Sparrow's hands flew to his ears, and he shot an aggrieved look at Will, who frowned down at his son. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Elizabeth bend to soothe their sobbing daughter. With a sigh, he smacked the lad across the back of the head.

"Ow," Jack complained, glaring up at him, "what was that for?"

"For making your sister cry!" Seeing that the answer only resulted in the boy rolling his eyes, Will scowled and smacked him again. "And lack of courtesy shown towards our host!"

Rubbing the back of his head, Jack scowled up at him. Seeing in his father's face that he would get no reprieve, he turned and stalked down the hall towards Samson who had retreated to the safety of a cushioned window seat. The big man smirked at him as he sat sullenly beside him and patted the lad comfortingly on the shoulder.

Elizabeth, finally quieting the girl to whimpers, shot a dark look at the pig and at Jack Sparrow, whose eyes widened innocently as he uncovered his ears. Will decided to ignore the consequent aggrieved look, and folded his arms, waiting for the pirate to take the lead once more. When he did, Will followed, casting one last glance into the kitchen where Cook was shaking a wooden spoon in their general direction. Samson and Jack fell into step alongside them, the big man lumbering behind and the lad sulking, despite his obvious excitement, whenever Will glanced his way.

"We're _still_ ridding the place of these," Jack Sparrow said, stopping to pick up a rotten apple core. By its brown stem he held it and motioned toward the space surrounding them. "As well as restoring the splendor to what was once a splendid retreat. All damage done, it's a rather meticulous task." He eyed the thing that was once an apple, wrinkled his nose, chucked it, and watched as it skittered down the hall. A piece of tile fell from the ceiling and he sighed, toeing it away. "Ten years they spent letting the place go to ruins—and ruining it."

"Captain Barbossa was here?"

Jack arched a brow at Jack. "Let's not call him that, lad. You've my full permission to call him Hector—or," the pirate said, flicking his fingers out to frame his words, "'that bloody bastard'."

"But you've not _my_ permission," Elizabeth reminded her son. "'That bloody blighter' will do."

"_Fine_. So—that bloody blighter was here?"

"That he was, lad, and for that time I could not return here." Jack Sparrow brightened considerably as they rounded the corner. "But after I got the _Pearl_ back…"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The _Black Pearl_ was quiet. Alice hadn't found Gibbs anywhere on land, and so she'd ventured back toward Jack's pride and joy. She'd boarded the ship under the eyes of the five men on lookout and nodded at each of them. They'd nodded back and then she'd had a look around. The sailor she sought had been nowhere to be found and so she'd decided upon checking on the cats and perhaps fetching her things from Jack's cabin.

Instead she found Isaac sitting at the captain's roundtable. He had a bottle of what looked suspiciously like rum in hand. A trunk sat before him, as well as a basket of wrapped gifts, and he stared glumly at both. She crossed the space and lifted the bottle, taking a sip of the hot stuff from it. Realizing he'd not budged nor flinched, she frowned and set the thing back in his hand the way it had been.

"You drank my rum," he accused.

"Only a sip." She pulled Jack's fancy chair out and sat in it, relishing the idea of the pirate walking in and finding her enjoying the comfort of the silk cushions Jack allowed no one's rear but his own. "And only to get your attention."

"Worked."

"Why the long face, nip?"

At the pet name, Isaac smiled.

So did she. "Stop mooning over Turner's wife."

He turned big blue eyes up at her. "How'd you know?"

"Please," she scoffed, folding her arms o'er her chest, "you don't think Jack and I share information we believe to be pertinent to the general well-being of your person?" At his skeptical look she smiled and patted his hand. "Besides, we've known as well as she that you fancied her since the first time your voice cracked."

"'As well as she'?!" His face flushed. "She knows?"

"Isaac, my dear nip," she said, taking his face into her hands, "if there is any one thing you must learn about the world from me, it is that women always know everything."

He blanched. "And Will? Does he know?"

"Of course not!" She shook her head. "If there is any second thing you must learn about the world from me, it is that men rarely know anything."

He sighed.

"Speaking of men knowing next to nothing," she said, "have you seen Mister Gibbs?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"And this," Jack said, proudly sweeping an arm t'ward the door, "is our little library. A homage to man's pursuit of knowledge."

Such had been the tour thus far, a proud Jack presenting to the rest of them the many rooms and spaces within the fortress. A good number of them were still under the process of aesthetic and structural restoration, the safety concerns of which inhibited their exploration past the doors. Will was quite certain he would not have wanted much to explore them anyway, as the dust, crumbling walls, and wavering white drop cloths were most unsettling. Coupled with the smell of decay he'd previously ignored, they shook him in his shoes. He was much happier to spend time exploring the refurbished rooms as they were another story altogether. Certainly Jack Sparrow had every right to be proud of them. They were as gloriously appointed as any space in any palace one might dream of and twice as breathtaking. As the pirate had presented them, his guests had oohed and aahed accordingly.

There had been a pristine white great room, its gilded moldings and tall pillar candles reminding Will much of a wedding cake. The decadence might have been intimidating if the room did not offer the comfort of soft, velvet-cushioned furniture and a glowing fireplace. Through it they'd passed quickly into the next room. It hadn't been unlike the Governor's game parlor. Dartboards took their place on the walls. Many boards were set upon small wooden tables. A few chess sets there were, including one whose game was still in progress even though its players had long since abandoned it. Samson had reached to move a piece, but Jack had slapped his big hand away and led them on.

Into a small and cozy room they went, all admiring the two gilded chairs affront a roaring hearth. Encased in glass were many smoking pipes—small shiny ones, rich wooden ones, and gold-topped ivory tusks—and three ornate hookahs, one of which Will remembered Jack to have acquired upon one of their recent romps. After they'd admired the collection, Jack had led them into a great room that was decidedly a dining place. Long it had been. Stretching the length of it were many wooden tables lined together as one. At the head of it sat a monstrous chair which the pirate loudly pointed out as his own. There were a few round tables to the side, through which they walked, and at the head of the room another long line of them, which they passed on their way toward the wide double doors. Wooden they were, and carved into them a sprawling seascape. To the right was carved a smiling Neptune and to the left his serene wife. Instead of swinging open, they parted in the center and slid aside to reveal a courtyard lagoon.

In the pebbled patio was a round fire pit. Beyond the smooth stones was a grove of silver palms and beyond them was a wide arc of black sand. High black cliffs rose above and between them poured a quiet cascade into a pool of bubbling gold. Upon noticing the lad's bright eyes, the pirate had taken his guests back inside, sliding the doors shut—and latching them for good measure—behind them. Back through the previously admired rooms they'd went, following the pirate into another decrepit hallway.

It was there that they stood looking through an open door into the room the pirate now presented. Inside, tall shelves brimming with books were the surrounding walls. From the ceiling hung in the center of the room a crystal chandelier, and under it a mass of candles set upon a tray in the center of a round table of many seats.

Will froze.

Even from the distance he stood in the hall, and with the spots of tarnish and layer of dust upon the silver, he recognized the delicate etching upon the edging of the tray. Pushing quietly past the pirate he went to the table. Staring down at the platter, at its etched vines and flowers, he swallowed the lump in his throat. He reached a tentative finger forward as if the thing might burn him as one of the flickering candles would should he touch it. Dully, he realized that it didn't as he brushed a fingertip o'er it. Tracing over the edge, he watched as the pirate walked slowly around to the other side of the table. Jack's dark gaze caught upon his veneration of the object. When the pirate turned curious eyes upon him, Will looked back down at the candles, and at the tray he was touching still.

"Twas my mother's," he said softly. A surge of anger inexplicably coursed through him, and he threw his hair back, glaring at the pirate in front of him. "Why is it here?"

Jack glanced down at it and when he raised his gaze to Will it was steady and without its usual glint. A quick twitch of his lip preceded a long sigh, and then he rolled his hands gently toward the table. "Your father brought it. Never said why." Seeing the press of Will's lips, he rushed on. "But by all estimates, including the amount of time the man spent in here, I'd assume it was to serve a fond reminder of 'the comforts of home'."

"Bootstrap spent a bloody lot of time here," Samson put in, "with Jacky."

"We spent days looking for it," Will said, remembering the day his mother had discovered it missing. His gaze darkened. "He didn't ask her if he could take it."

"Pirate," Jack reminded him gently.

Will nodded.

"If you want it," Jack said, nodding at the thing, "it's yours."

"And what good would it do now?" Will tried to scowl, but he found he could not be angry. Instead he stared at the candles and their flickering flames. "What good would it be?"

"We could put it in _our_ library."

Having not noticed his wife's approach, Will turned to look at her. Sitting Little Lucy on the table, she smiled and laid a gentle hand upon his arm. The gesture was small, but it soothed him, and looking into her eyes, he found the comfort he always did and nodded.

"Would like rather nice upon that little round table you've set up with a…" Jack trailed off, his eyes growing wide with a bright sadness as he put a hand over his heart. "Tea service."

"We agreed, Jack," Elizabeth said, "after much deliberation and negotiation, that in a house both tea and rum have a place." She lifted her chin. "A library, as opposed to a parlor, is much more acclimed to tea."

"Not my library," Jack said, bending to pluck a round bottle from under the table. He swirled it between his fingertips and arched his brows at the woman. "Acclimed or not, darling, it's a delicate balance of books and spirits that's kept me acumen so astutely astonishing all these years."

"Of that," Elizabeth said to him, "there was not a doubt in my mind. Unfortunately Jack, I do think perhaps you've tipped the scales a few times too many." Ignoring the pirate's grin turned frown, she turned to her husband. "Your mother's silver would look lovely upon my mother's table, Will."

"Yes," he agreed, smiling at her as he drew her close. "It will."

"A splendid idea," Jack said, lifting the bottle of rum with a hopeful smile. "Shall we drink to it?"

But the two were already involved in a toast of their own, a soft, pleasant kiss that puckered their children's faces with sour distaste. The pirate shrugged, uncorking the thing and taking a swig of the stuff inside. He offered the bottle to Samson who grinned, took a giant gulp, and handed it back. Jack eyed the empty bottle in dismay and tossed it over his shoulder. The shattering of the glass interrupted the Turners' moment, both of them parting reluctantly from the other and glaring at Jack, who shrugged and sashayed around the table, slapping Samson's hands from the back of a chair and picking up a delighted Little Lucy whose little hands immediately disappeared into his hair.

"Believe it's time to resume our roundabout," Jack said, stopping at the door and frowning at the long locks that were being pulled and twisted in a variety of curious ways. He arched a brow as Elizabeth passed him. "I'm quite sure a library is not acclimed to such behavior."

Will held steady his wife's arm—which twitched with what he was sure was an unerring slap—as he herded his son out the door. Samson followed, but Will was only vaguely aware of such as the forlorn look in Jack's eyes drew his attention back toward the chair that the big man had touched. It was difficult tearing his gaze away, but when he did he met Jack's and followed the solemn pirate wordlessly down the hall.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

By all measures, Gibbs had had a rough day. The docking of the _Pearl_ at her isle was always a good deal of work, and to such he was by then accustomed, but his efforts went beyond routine. Carting crates to land was usual but carting them back to the ship was not. To cart and cart back there had been many and so the sailor was tired but flush with the excitement of what was to come. With a sparkle in his eye and a grin on his face, he took a hearty slug of rum from his flask and shut the door behind him.

He was walking across the deck toward the gangplank, intent upon making his way at long last t'ward rest on land, when he saw Alice Witter emerge from the captain's quarters, her eyes instantly narrowing upon him. Cussing, he took a hurried drink 'fore she reached him. When she did, he smiled brightly at her.

"Good to see ye, Miss Witter."

She nodded.

"Beaut of a day, ain't it?"

"Oh yes," she agreed, glancing about before settling her unsettling gaze upon him, "quite lovely."

Gibbs nodded and pretended to admire the weather for a few moments. At long last he tipped his flask at her and made to disembark. Relief he figured he was feeling as he stepped up to step off of the _Pearl_.

"Jack knows, doesn't he?"

Biting back a curse, he stopped. Turning around, he fixed a look of confusion upon his face. Narrowing his eyes at hers, he cocked his head. "Bout the weather, lass?"

She lifted her chin, her hard gaze raking him head to toe. For a few tense moments Gibbs wondered if she would find him out as well as Jack. When he saw a flash of satisfaction cross her face, he had to force himself not to show the same. Instead he raised his brows at her, prompting her for the answer she never gave.

"Aye the weather—but that's not what I meant really. What I meant, Gibbs, is more along the lines of wondering if perhaps Jack knew that in this weather—I—I'm rather romantically inclined!"

Gibbs, having heard almost everything and anything else in between during his many years of sailing, could not help choking upon a swig of rum at the words that, after much struggle, fell from her lips. He wheezed, pounding a fist upon his chest and gaped at her. Seeing the crimson stain her cheeks, he leaned forward and grinned, winking at her. "Want me to be tellin 'im, lass?"

"No! I mean, yes—but later, tonight, sometime perhaps?"

With a nod and a grin, Gibbs turned. He walked away from the _Pearl_ with a bounce in his step, pleased with the success, as well as the spoils, of a hard day's work. "Wait till Jack hears this," he muttered to himself, unable to resist the chuckle that rumbled from his belly.

_**Author's Babble: **Vesta is the Roman goddess of the hearth. She played an important part in family worship—many had her likeness standing guard o'er their home altars. She was also worshipped publicly, usually in a round building. The round building, representing a public hearth, contained a perpetual fire kept burning by the Vestal Virgins—the priestesses of Vesta. Save for the first of March, the only day the flame was to be extinguished and reignited, if the fire went out it was considered a very bad omen for Rome. Caloris de Vesta, Vesta's Warmth, is over the door that leads to the actual living space in the place. Warmth is a reminder of home and comfort._


	22. Resting Places

Not only had the place a marvelous library, it also contained an enormous steam room, which the pirate proclaimed as the hub of hygiene. All had been rather impressed with the tiled baths and saunas, but they did not compare to the waterfalls cascading from the ceiling. The pirate had called those "cascades of cleanliness", and all had oohed and aahed delightedly at the idea of a contained alternative to the bath. Elizabeth, to Will's amusement, had looked most intrigued, and thus he was glad for the sake of propriety that Jack had quickly led the group to the tour's next destination. Through a door they'd went, Will and Elizabeth unable to take their eyes off the other, walking right into the surprisingly comfortable and relatively cozy crew's quarters.

It was a space bigger than that of the dining room, certainly double the size of it if what Will saw was accurate, and rather well-appointed. Swags of silk were looped around the wooden beams of the ceiling from which they fell, swaying, to sweep the floor. There were rows of wooden bunks, all handsomely carved and decorated with various personal items of each man—or woman—of occupancy. In the center of the space was a rectangular recreational area. Long, cushioned seats and a long, lacquered table took residence there. The pirates had set up a card table, and opposite it a board for Hazard. They'd set up a library of sorts of their own, dog-eared books and faded news sheets stacked on a low table between a number of odd, overstuffed chairs. Nearby, Will noted, someone had tacked numerous posts upon the wall.

Curious, he set foot toward them and was rather amused to find each and every one to be of the series depicting infamous criminals wanted by the King's men. The sort was rather popular in the colonies as well as England. Under each sketch was the name or names of the particular pirate as well as his list of crimes and a few words of caution as to his or her likeliness to cause a ruckus upon the meeting of their acquaintance. Will was not surprised to find familiar faces sketched upon them, nor surprised to see the same familiar face upon the majority.

"Ah yes," Jack said, a fond smile flashing upon his countenance, "me wall of fame!"

The declaration drew a snort from Will as he read.

Captain Anamaria Soledad, aka Ana Marie aka Marie aka the Dark Phoenix aka the Rising Phoenix aka Sparrow's Phoenix aka the Setting Sun. Crimes numerous in number and wickedly depraved, most importantly several counts of pyracy, smuggling, and arson. Carries many weapons on her person not limited to but certainly including a dagger, cutlass, and blunderbuss.

"They forgot," Jack said, "that the woman packs a most powerful punch."

"And her slap?"

"That too."

Joshamee Gibbs aka Mr. Gibbs aka Gibbsy aka Jay Gibbs aka the Sullied Sailor. Dereliction of duty, desertion, depravity, drunkenness, pyracy, and treason. Carries a cutlass. Frequently seen sipping a nameless drink from a capped flask kept tucked in his shirt.

"Nameless me bum," Jack huffed. "I'm thinking it's me expensive rum. Stuff disappears too fast and despite my love of the blessed fire of honey it simply can not be only me salted self sipping it."

"Not that you would remember, Jacky."

"Not remember drinking the rum?" Jack stood on his tiptoes, brows knit at the big man. "How could I forget that?"

Mister Cotton aka Cotton aka Quiet Cotton aka Cottonmouth. Briganding, looting, murder—

"Murder?" Will had thought the same but Elizabeth had been the one to speak up. "Surely not Cotton?"

"Easy to pin a crime upon a man with no tongue to speak for himself, aye?"

"Someone cut me tongue out I'd strangle the bastard," Samson declared.

"_Ahhh_," Jack breathed, cocking his head in contemplation, "that very well could've been the case."

Captain Winter aka Captain Liss aka Alice Winter aka Lissa Winter aka Dollilocks aka Dove aka Sweet Queen aka Ice Queen of the Caribbean aka Alice Sparrow—

"Not quite," Jack put in, face souring. "Still can't believe they posted that. And over the _whole_ of London!"

—aka Sparrow's Doll—

"Puts a _real_ damper on me social recreation, I'll tell you that!"

—aka Sparrow's Dove—

Jack scowled. "Very likely the reason for all the laughter me name's met with these days."

"Nothing else it could possibly be," Elizabeth said.

Jack sighed. "I know!"

—Falsification, forgery, uttering, impersonation, sailing under false colors, arson, blackmail, jailbreaking, smuggling, pyracy, sorcery—

"A witch?!" Elizabeth's eyes widened.

"Well," Jack said with an impish grin, "some accounts recounted by certain anonymous sources to certain authorities were perhaps slightly skewed or of a fallacious sort, but applicable nonetheless."

Will chuckled.

—and treason. Said not to carry a single weapon but is considered highly dangerous, especially to those of the male persuasion—

"That," Jack clarified, "is the honest truth."

—Seen most as companion to criminal pyrate Jack Sparrow.

"Well that's _one_ way of putting it."

But there were many ways of putting it, Will read.

Captain Jack Sparrow, aka Captain Sparrow aka Jack Sparrow aka Jacques Moineau—

"French, William. You must learn it," Jack suggested.

—aka Jacques Spurrowe aka Jack of Hearts aka Jack of Spades aka Jack of Pearls aka Black Jack aka Cracker Jack—

"Think they forgot one form o' Jack," Samson boomed.

Jack shot him a dark look.

—aka The Most Reverend and Right Honorable John Hawkes aka Lord Archbishop Hawkes aka J. Hawkes aka Jack Hawkes aka Lord Chancellor John Finch aka The King's Chancellor John Finch aka Chancellor Finch aka J. Finch aka Captain Starling aka J. Starling aka Jack Starling aka Master Johnathan Starling. Impersonating a cleric of the Chuch of England, an officer of the crown, an officer of the British Royal Navy, an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, and the son of the King's Navigator Pilot Major Starling both deceased. Pyracy, high treason, smuggling, falsification of Letters of Marque and Reprisal, stealing, sailing under false colors, arson, jailbreaking, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, depravity, depredation, and general lawlesslness.

"That," Jack said, "is the most accurate list." He sighed sadly, shaking his head. "Though they're missing more than a few of my accolades…"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"What… 'accomplishments and accolades as yet undocumented'," Alice Witter read aloud from a page, "'corruption of several hundred minors, several counts of defamation most likely considered criminal libel—The Review: vol. 3 twice, vol. 4 thrice, vol 5. _Perukes and Periwigs of the Primfolk at Port Royal_—la defleuraison d'une belle dame—' nice touch," she had to admit, "the French. Or his variation of the language, as it were." She scanned the rest of the page, shaking her head. "If Jack Sparrow is known for anything," she murmured, "it's his big black boat."

"Ship," Isaac said, lifting his forefinger from the book he was flipping through. "The _Black Pearl_ is a ship."

The correction crinkled her brow. Irritated, she tossed the brown book aside. Her search for the black-bound tome she'd previously had in her grasp had left in its wake a dissheveled trail of parchment, charts, and open books. From the mess she looked up at the lad.

Yet seated at the roundtable he'd been upon her return, and seated still he was. Back straight he sat in the same chair, gaze upon the yellowing pages of the passage he read. His blue eyes were steadily skimming the text when they glanced her way. Startled to find her watching him, he jumped. His gaze fell upon the mess at her fingertips and he raised a brow.

"I can not find it," she told him.

"Find what?"

"The black book I was reading," she huffed, smacking the top of the brown book as if it were somehow responsible for the black book's going missing, "has disappeared."

"Ah," Isaac said, a smiling lifting the corner of his mouth as he went back to his book, "well it's not customary for Jack to leave his little black books lying around in plain sight of prying eyes."

"Yes I know," she said, stalking t'ward a cabinet. From one of its pigeonholes she plucked a bottle of wine and from its shelf she took a gilded corkscrew. Popping the thing, she took a resolute drink of the rich scarlet stuff. Its ripe berry flavor burst in her mouth and she raised a brow, turning the bottle to eye the label. "Good year," she decided, taking another swig and popping the cork back in. "So when Jack puts his books away…"

Isaac didn't look up at her as she leaned over his shoulder.

She smiled. "Where does he keep them?"

His gaze rolled back to find her and when it did, he smiled back. "In a locked box," he said, turning back to his book, "to which only he has the key."

"Blast."

"Yes," he said, "I think that's probably why he puts that particular text away. Dangerous when explanation of the mechanics of gunpowder is left on a ship for any man's perusal, I'd imagine." He reached up and twirled one of her soft curls around an accusing finger. "Could result in an explosive situation."

Alice frowned.

"Don't worry," Isaac said, smiling down at the silk twined 'round his forefinger. "I didn't tell him you were reading it."

She smiled, all traces of paranoia slipping away. Every possible snitch she'd sniffed out and each had met her approval. Satisfied, she turned her gaze down upon the lad and nodded at his book. "What are you reading?"

"The _Odyssey_," he said, pointing at an illustration of a wide-eyed goddess looking upon a calm hero as he drank from a flask filled with one of her potions, "Odysseus has just fooled Circe."

"Such tripe that Homer wrote," she said, shaking her head. "As if any man could outwit a woman!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Gibbs couldn't help but pause at the kitchen, for the heavenly aroma that was Cook's cooking had quite a hold on him. He stopped at the door, stomach rumbling at the smell of roast pig, and watched as the spectacled man stirred a cauldron of bubbling chocolate. The sight brought tears to Gibbs' eyes, it did, as well as a wealth of saliva to his mouth. Before he'd the chance to drool outright, he sighed sadly and continued on his way.

In the great white room he found the very pair of pirates he'd meant to find. There upon the davenport were Anamaria and Roth, oblivious to him as much to anything else save each other. The two were entwined in what looked to be a sloppy sort of kiss, the sort that made Gibbs roll his eyes. Unwilling to watch any more of the display, he cleared his throat and was relieved to see their instant parting.

Anamaria scowled at him.

"Don't be givin me that look, Marie," Gibbs said, "Ye got a room somewhere 'round here. Use it!"

"Ain't no use for usin it till later," she spat, straightening her dress and lifting her chin as she strode t'ward him. "I've matters to attend to elsewhere."

Roth straightened his own vest as he made his way toward Gibbs. The sailor nodded his approval. Together they watched the woman stalk out of sight, and could not help but share smiles.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"And this," Jack said, "is where I stow me own boots."

Through a small round room with several doors, two of which had been from the crew's quarters, they'd come. The captain had tossed open the double doors to the room he showed now and flicked a flippant wrist toward its splendor. Though it certainly looked to be a space to be explored, Will hesitated at the threshold. His reluctance for the sake of propriety prompted Jack Sparrow to roll his eyes.

"Well I'd carry you over," the pirate said, looking him up and down with a frown, "but blushing bride you're not."

"Scuse me," said Jack, pushing past the two of them.

Both sets of brows raised at the boy's sudden lack of decorum, the pirate's knitting the instant he saw the beeline that his namesake made for the bed. "No jumping on the—"

Jack Turner, having paid no heed to him, bounced joyfully on the silken coverlet.

"Bed," Jack finished with a grimace.

Amused, Will stepped past him and turned around—and around again—to admire the room's accoutrements. With a small smile at the dismayed pirate, Elizabeth followed, sitting Little Lucy on her feet. The small girl's eyes lit up and she tore toward the bed, giggling with glee when her brother helped her up. Samson, clapping Jack on the back, quirked a brow.

"Kids, aye?"

Jack sighed. "Me fine Egyptian silk…"

If the room was simply the place the pirate stowed his boots, Will thought perhaps he'd gone overboard. The black walls sparkled. Parged with a mixture of the isle's dark sand they were, swirls of glossy black rock shining through. On the dome ceiling was painted a great round mural. In the center flew the sparrow, around it the red and indigo lines of the outer edge of the compass rose. Behind both was a golden star, its four points representing the cardinal directions. An incscription had been carved around the base of the dome in a language that Will could not read but knew all the same.

"The sparrow flies north, south, east, and west," he read, "but this is where he lay to rest."

"How is it you don't know French," Jack asked, "but you can read _that_?"

Will shrugged. "Intuition?"

"Aye," Jack said, arching a brow, "an aptly named language it is."

Two glass doors let in the light. Through them was visible a wooden arbor. Set in the black sand it was as well were the surrounding bunches of candles. It was draped in rustling red silk. Between the posts swayed a gilded swing and upon its red cushion sat a stack of thin bound books. It looked as if, Will thought, a rather romantic spot.

"How lovely," said Elizabeth, her gaze drawn to it as well. She crossed the space to the doors, opened them, and picked up the topmost tome. "Shakespeare, Jack?"

"What else?" The pirate lifted his chin and flicked a hand at the air. "Have you not noticed, Mrs. Turner, me romantic side?"

"Romantic?" Will's gaze fell pointedly upon the bed. "Is that what you call it?"

Though the children had made the thing their trampoline, it was still quite a sight to behold. From two black steps it rose up, its posts of spiral spun gold spindling toward the ceiling. Curtained in black silk it was, both sides tied back to the headboard which was an enormous thing of gilded swirls and doves and winged cherubs. The bed seemed an altar itself, dressed in sumptuous dark silk and satin, what with the many candles upon the curved stone shelves surrounding the head of it.

"That, Mister Turner," Jack said, pointing with a ringed finger at the spectacle, "is what I call a taste of the sublime."

"Get off of there," Elizabeth cried, running forward to whisk her complaining children away from the bed. "Uncle Jack said no jumping!"

"Nice work," Samson breathed to Jack.

"Aye," said Jack, though his smirk faded to a frown. "But I'll never get the crinkles out the silk now!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

On her way t'wards the _Pearl_, Anamaria saw a trunk toting Isaac. Much to her surprise, he smiled at her and uttered a quick greeting in their passing. She noticed his struggling to carry atop the trunk a basket of gifts and spotting Marty, she called the miniature man over and nodded t'ward the lad. With the extra weight lifted from his hands, Isaac dropped the trunk, spun on his heel and kissed her on the cheek. So surprised she was that she stood there well after they disappeared from view. Shaking herself from her stupor and smiling all the while, she flounced the rest of the way to the ship and was not surprised to find a stony-faced Ice Queen awaiting her presence with the ominously steady tap of her foot.

"Where," Alice Witter asked, "have you been?"

"Isn't it more important," Anamaria asked, "that I'm here now?"

Alice folded her arms.

"Don't give me that, Witter," Anamaria said, glad to throw the line in the woman's face as she glanced pointedly up at the crow's nest where two men, three less than the usual lookout, paid them no heed. "The wait was worth it."

Following the glance, Alice's foot stopped tapping. A flash of a smile crossed her face, and she nodded, pleased, at the woman with whom she'd been displeased only a moment before. "After you," she said sweetly, stepping aside and sweeping her arm out. "Ladies first."

Anamaria scowled at the woman's getup—the dress gone in favor of a shirt and breeches—and at her own. Such, she vowed, would shortly be remedied and the consequential title revoked. "Don't push me, Ice Queen."

"I wouldn't _dare_."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

After a brief argument between Elizabeth and Jack Sparrow about the wrinkling of expensive silk and the fury brought out in those afflicted with finicky senses by such, the group had somehow managed to escape the pirate's bedchambers with all their wits, and heads, about them. Back into the round room they went, Jack closing the doors behind him and in the next moment swinging the third set open to reveal a narrow corridor. The pirate swiped a lantern flaming in a sconce upon the wall and swept it in front of him to light the way.

As Jack paused to light other lanterns along the way, Will raised his brows at his strange surroundings. That there were not windows to the outside contributed to the weirdness as well as to the darkness. As the lanterns were lit he saw that despite the incongruity of the narrow hall to the spacious others he'd walked through, it was not so bad as those still in a state of decay. The walls were perfectly parged and floor tiled neatly. No strange smells tickled his nose. There was not dust to stir. In fact, he noticed, the hall was one of the best kept they'd walked through thus far.

"Faust," Jack said, nodding at a gilt door to his left.

Will raised a brow.

A few paces and the pirate nodded to his left again. "Anamaria." At the next he paused to light another lantern, flicking his free hand toward the door. "Gibbs."

Curious, Will followed him closely down the hall, narrowly avoiding a collision when the pirate stopped short to light a torch.

"Samson," Jack said, reaching out and patting the door to his left.

"Kept it for me, did ya," the big man asked, clucking his tongue. "Jacky, ya didn't!"

"Oh," said the pirate, whisking a ring of keys from his pocket. In the air he tossed them, catching them with his finger and twirling them in a jingling chorus around it. "But I did." With the other hand he lit another lantern. He stepped forward only to pause.

The sudden stop caused the group to plow into each other, and Will, being at the front, received the brunt of it. Eyes wide, he threw his arms out and gripped the wall to steady himself. At the pirate's back he scowled, but after a few moments of stillness and silence, in which he discovered the pirate hanging his head with his own hands braced against the walls, he frowned. "Jack?"

"A moment," requested the pirate, shoving the lantern into an empty post, "just a moment."

For a moment, Will waited, and when it seemed Jack was simply not going to speak again, he reached a hand forward. He had to snatch it back, however, as his friend turned suddenly on his heel to face him. That the pirate's eyes shone so serious puzzled him. He frowned, concerned, for solemnity was a trait rarely exhibited by Captain Jack Sparrow.

"This," Jack said with a nod over his shoulder, "is it."

_**Author's Babble: **In the movie, as Jack is to be hanged, an official reads a proclamation. As such is happening so are other things, and some dialogue does take the foreground as the reading recedes to the background. Every (web)version of the (final)script I've read has omitted those recessed parts of the reading and so I decided to do some work. Thus I do indeed have the actual reading and shall herewith share it. If any other fic writers have done the same I apologize for my ignorance to such and ask to be granted pardon. If such is absolutely impossible I suppose I'll simply have to face the noose. _

_Proclamation from Pirates of the Caribbean The Curse of the Black Pearl actually reads:_

Jack Sparrow, be it known that you have _been charged, tried, and convicted_ for your willful commission of crimes against the crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature, the most egregious of these to be cited herewith—piracy, smuggling, _falsification of Letters of Marque and Reprisal, impersonating an officer of the British Royal Navy_, impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England,_ stealing_, sailing under false colors, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, depravity, depredation, and general lawlessness. And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul.

_In this story upon the wanted poster Jack claims is probably most accurate, I have inserted all the charges from the proclamation as well as a few others. Nicknames and warnings and other rot on the posters(save for the names Captain Jack Sparrow, Jack Sparrow, Captain Sparrow, Gibbs, Mister Gibbs, Mister Cotton, Cotton, and Captain Anamaria Soledad as they are property of Disney as applied to Pirates of the Caribbean) are of my own creation. _

_Capital crime of pyrate time was ridiculous, with well over 100 offenses considered punishable by death. Many pirates were tried for the following crimes…as well as many others. **Arson** is the act of setting a fire with intent to cause damage. **Brigandage** is the practice of organized robbery and plundering on land, and can be highway robbery. **Defamation** is an intentional false communication that injures another person's good name or reputation, while **libel** is the correct term for the written form of such. **Depravity** is the practice of any act deemed corrupt. **Depredation** is to engage in plunder, as in to engage in the taking of goods wrongfully and with force. **Dereliction of duty** is the act of avoiding any expected duty. **Desertion** is the act of abandoning one's post as a soldier or sailor. **Drunkeness** is the state of being intoxicated with alcohol. **Falsification** is the act of producing something lacking authenticity and attempting to pass it off as authentic. **Falsification of Letters of Marque and Reprisal** is the act of using fake documents so that one would not be charged with piracy, as Letters of Marque and Reprisal are a commission from government or King to capture vessels of an enemy nation. **Forgery **is the process of reproducing objects or documents with the intent to deceive. **General lawlessness** is the state of being justly lax. **High treason** is any act that constitutes a serious threat to the stability or continuity of the state—plotting the death of the Sovereign, violating those held dear to the Sovereign, waging war against the Sovereign, and aiding enemies of the Sovereign. **Impersonation** is to assume false identification. **Jailbreaking** is the act of breaking either oneself or another from prison. **Kidnapping** is the act of taking away a person against their will. **Looting** is theft by advantage of special conditions such as war or disaster. **Pilfering** is the act of stealing in small amounts so as to gain profit again and again. **Poaching** is the act of trespass for the purpose of stealing. **Pyracy** is robbery on the high seas. **Sailing under false colors** is the act of flying another country's flag to lure an enemy within firing range or other such advantageous act. **Smuggling** is the act of transporting goods or people to places they ought not be. **Sorcery** is the practice of invoking spirits or the use of charms to cause harm. **Stealing** is the act of wrongful taking of another's property. **Treason** is the crime of disloyalty to one's nation but is less offensive to the crown than high treason; anyone guilty of treason is considered a traitor. **Uttering** is the act of producing a forgery of a document of legal significance(a deed, title, or cheque) with the intent of passing it off as genuine. _

_Jack's notes of his own "accomplishments", which Alice stops to read in her search for the black book, contain a rather shamelessly swiped(I can't help it—I'm a pirate) historical bit. His "defamation" mentions published pieces in the Review, a periodical in the early 18th century. **The Review** was the work of **Daniel Defoe**—that's the same Daniel Defoe who wrote Robinson Crusoe as well as A General History of the Pyrates, The Life, Adventures, and Piracies of the Famous Captain Singleton, and The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honorable Colonel Jack—in which the main character, who fancies calling himself Colonel Jack, becomes an assistant to a pickpocket called Will. Purely for my own amusement. **Defleuraison** is Jack's personal joke referring to the deflowering of a fine lady—most probably a French woman held in high regard who should otherwise have remained pristine in virtue._

_Isaac is reading **the Odyssey** and has just finished reading the part in which Odysseus uses his cunning to fool Circe, the divine enchantress who has the ability or know-how to turn men into animals. When the hero drinks her potion he has in his system a special herb to counter it. The herb was given to him by Hermes, the messenger god who had told him what to expect from the goddess. Alice finds this to be ridiculous because, in her opinion, women always outwit men for man's lack of knowledge. She doesn't know that Roth and Gibbs have already played the part of Hermes to Jack's Odysseus. As for Odysseus/Jack, remember that in the story of the Odyssey, Odysseus wandered for ten years before returning to his beloved Penelope—same as Jack did before reacquiring the Pearl._


	23. Turner's Treasure

Will Turner stared first at the serious pirate in front of him, then at the door over the pirate's shoulder, and after that at the pirate once more. Jack's eyes glinted at him in the darkness so much so that Will wondered if perhaps the man had tears in his eyes. For a long moment he wished to ask if such was so, but the pirate turned 'fore he had the chance. Will frowned and watched as Jack Sparrow took an embellished key, unlocked the door, and swung it open.

Dark the space beyond it was, and Will squinted to see in but could not. He turned curious eyes upon the solemn pirate who nodded t'ward the torch he'd fixed upon the wall. Brows knit, Will took it and tread cautiously to the threshold where he lifted the light.

Inside was much space o'er which shadows danced. In the center gleamed gold. Stepping cautiously through the darkness, Will went to it. The flame passing under revealed it to be a round candelabrum. Twelve candles he lit in succession, each flame illuminating more of the room. As the last flickered alight, he stepped back and saw that his family had joined him. His son stood at the edge of a table, eyeing with interest the sword that lay atop it. Little Lucy gazed open-mouthed upon the painted ceiling as she held her mother's hand; Elizabeth's other cupping her own mouth.

Wary, Will followed her gaze down to the floor where beside a bed sat a pair of brown boots. Made of a dark tannin they were, and they looked soft, their tall tops folded over. Beneath one such fold gleamed the silver blade of a dagger. The weapon was fixed to the side, tucked neatly under a brown boot strap.

Behind the whirring in Will's ears he heard the heavy steps of Jack Sparrow as the pirate stepped into the room. It was with a slow toe he approached, and with a tentative step that he settled. For a moment all was still, and then there was the near-silent drawing of breath that Will would not have heard had the pirate not stood only a pace away.

"Bootstrap," said Jack, "stowed his boots here."

"Grandfather?" Young Jack had turned and was gaping at the pirate. "Bullocks! You're full o'—"

"_Boy_—"

"It's true," Will cut in, preventing any argument that might arise. He reached forward to run his fingertips o'er the taut strap holding the dagger and was glad to hear the swish of Elizabeth's skirt. He looked up at her as she knelt beside him and touched the embellished handle of the weapon. "Twas my grandfather's." Seeing her frown he shook his head. "My mother's father. She must have given it to him."

"Aye," said Samson, "always kept it close by, Bill did."

"Then why is it here?" Will turned to glare up at the other pirate. "Why is it not sunk into the sea like he? Why did he not take it with him?"

All eyes turned to the pirate held in question but Jack Sparrow's dark gaze was steady upon the man who'd asked. Black his eyes were, and flare up they did in the soft candlelight. Amber they smoldered. For an instant they blazed, Will's narrowing in turn, but cooled just as quickly. The silence that had been heavy, weighing upon the room and those within, turned chill with the pirate's terse voice.

"That is a question I haven't an answer for."

Will shrugged off Elizabeth's sudden grasp of his arm and stood to face the pirate. Upon the tip of his tongue was an acetic retort but it stayed there as up close he saw in Jack's eyes a mire of hurt. Will's brows drew together with a determination for patience he knew not he had.

"Answer for your father I can not." Unblinking, Jack caught Will's turning shoulder with deft fingers and gripped it. The grim intensity of Jack's solemnity showed not only in his eyes but also in the low, steady voice he rarely spoke with. "Tis not a matter of choice, son. You know, for I've told you before, that a man knows his limitations…I can not now nor could I ever fill the boots William Turner walked in. Savvy?"

To that Will found that he had no retort. Uneasy as it made him, the pirate's gaze held his. Strange it was, Will thought, that he felt so strong the pull of the dark eyes that so often shut him out. Stranger still was his inability to turn away when for once it was what he wanted to do. Strangest of all was that he could not refute what Jack had said, for Will suddenly knew, looking into the man's eyes, that he was right. Eyes stinging, and with a lump in his throat, Will nodded.

"Naet how I remember it," Samson said. The big man who'd at long last interrupted the strange silence eyed suspiciously the room around them. His green eyes darted from one thing to another, hooking to one sketch tacked to the wall above the desk before continuing their search, and he frowned at Jack. "Lot more orderly than last I saw it."

Giving Will's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Jack stepped back and glanced about. "Well you know," he said with a shrug,  
"perhaps William finally figured out the meaning of spring cleaning."

"Do you mean to tell me, Captain Sparrow," Elizabeth said, brushing the dust off of her skirt as she stood to join them, "that Will's inclination to make a mess was inherited from his father?"

Will scowled at his smiling wife.

"My dear Elizabeth," said Jack, raising a brow as did the big man, "of that, there is no doubt in my mind." His dark eyes shifted quickly to the glowering man in question and, with a nervous smile, back again. "Not that that's a bad thing! Could be good—who knows? Messy folk are sometimes great artisans. You know, Michaelangelo—well, _he_ was the _messiest_. Got paint all over the chapel ceiling once and everyone said it was his best—"

"Shut up, Jack," Will said, glaring at him.

The pirate looked decidedly relieved. "Alright," he agreed, winking at Elizabeth when Will pushed past him.

To the desk Will went. Above it on the wall was tacked the sketch the big man had ogled, and, curious, he studied it. Drawn on a large piece of yellowed parchment in a hand he recognized as Jack's were three men standing together beside a grove of palm trees. Grinning, the tallest had his big, strong arms around the other two. One, lean and smirking, leaned a shoulder lazily upon the closest tree trunk and the other, broad-shouldered and smiling, stood straight, arms folded over his chest.

"Twas the day we three found this place," Samson said, nodding at the sketch. "Jacky drew it for your Da."

Will nodded. That the men in the picture were Samson, Jack, and Bootstrap he'd known quick as he looked at each of them. Samson's immensity had given him away, as did the slouchy grace of Jack Sparrow and Bootstrap's stanch strength. But whereas Samson looked in the drawing much the same as he did standing a few paces away from Will, Jack could've been easily confused for Isaac Faust. The pirate's mane was long and without much embellishment—save for one braid amidst the free, flowing hair at the side of his face—and his face quite a bit younger. Bootstrap, on the other hand, looked much as Will knew he'd look if he glanced in the mirror.

"I do look just like him."

"Aye, you do," Jack said, glancing between he and the sketch upon the wall. "But," he said, narrowing his eyes at Bootstrap's face and then Will's, "you're prettier." At Will's glare he threw his hands up innocently. "In a manly way, of course."

Will rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the desk. Behind it ran a shelf peppered with various items of pirated interest—several silver rings, a jade statuette seemingly of orient origin, two small rosewood boxes both carved with strange symbols, an emerald the size of a small cannon ball, a dish of round, shiny gems the size of grapeshot, several golden coins, a very big and very pink conch shell, and three different colored strips of faded fabric in a coil—the last of which Will could not help but frown at. He'd seen similar pieces woven into Jack's mangy mane and so turned his puzzlement at the pirate.

"Some of us who are left behind," said Jack, plucking out the silver button the fabric was coiled around and eyeing it disdainfully before dropping it in Will's hand, "we refuse to let stay behind."

Will looked at it. He watched Jack study with great interest the greatly uninteresting wax dripping down the candles and frowned, first down at the button and then up at the pirate. "This was yours," he said, "from your coat." Upon seeing Jack frown down at the dissimilar buttons, he scowled, knowing as well as Jack that the coat the pirate wore was the wrong one. "The other coat, Jack."

Jack's brow furrowed. "The green one?"

"No."

"The tan one?"

"No."

"Ah," said Jack as he brightened, "the one trimmed in gold!"

"No," Will said tiredly, "not that one."

Jack, noting the tone of voice, badly feigned a ceiling-searching look of contemplation as well as the resulting wide-eyed realization. "The blue one!" He sauntered toward him and feigned examination of the button, poking it in Will's palm to turn it over. "Blessed be, you're right," he said, plucking it up and placing it back in the wreath of fabric, "it is from me coat."

"Jack."

"_Will_," he growled, fishing a flask from his pocket. He paused to uncork it and lift it to his lips. "Shut up."

"Alright," Will agreed, turning to eye the strands of beads hanging from a statue of the blessed virgin. "Rosaries?" He picked up one dangling crucifix and examined the amethyst beads of the rosary it was attached to. "My father was a religious man?"

"Of _course_ he was religious," said Jack. "He was a pirate afterall."

Will raised his brows.

The pirate shrugged and twitched a smile. "God loves us all."

"T'were a gift," explained Samson, tapping the virgin's veil with a big fingertip, "from a Spanish nun. Spent the eve supping with us she did. Slipped off with Jacky and your Da 'fore I knew what was happenin'. Said she needn't be searching for God anymore."

Will frowned. "Why not?"

"Well," Jack put in quickly, "she must have found him."

"Aye, if me ears did'n deceive me, she found God plenty that night."

Will turned disapproving eyes upon a red-faced Jack Sparrow who instantly brightened and treated him to a charming, glinting smile. There was a scathing remark on the tip of his tongue but his attention was drawn down to the lad who'd pushed between he and Jack. His son was nodding sagely at all three skeptical men.

"Every eve of the Sabbath me mum finds God," he said.

Such delighted the pirates, Samson and Jack twitching smiles at each other as well as at the reddened faces of both Will and Elizabeth. Little Lucy, giggling, let go of her mother's hand and bounded toward the boys. She smiled up at all of them and nodded her assent.

"Jesus too!"

"Always sounds exhausting," said her brother, "Pretty sure that's why she don't go to church in the morn."

"Elizabeth," Jack Sparrow crowed, "What a lovely revelation! I would've never known, darling, that faith's fire so burns within you."

"Faith," she spat, "is not the _only_ thing that burns, Jack Sparrow."

To that, the pirate's eyes grew wide. The smirk fell from his face as his gaze fell upon the flask in his hand. Promptly he pressed it into a coat pocket. With a dissatisfied look on his face he withdrew the thing and tucked it quickly inside his coat, raising his brows in defiance at Elizabeth.

Will cast both of them an aggrieved look and turned back to his examination of the desk. In truth he was not upset with their behavior, for their acting in the vein of normalcy was much a comfort to him. If it weren't for the distraction he felt quite certain he'd succumb to the suffocation that threatened his throat, pressing upon him like the weight of so many years without a trace of his father crushing him to the black oblivion of his own abyss.

Quickly he blinked away the heat in his misty eyes to see clearly the books in front of him. All leather bound and yellow-paged, some dog-eared and others with a crinkled spine, they sat in a pile on the left of the desk. The embossed title of the topmost tome he couldn't read, for it stood out in strange symbols. Unwillingness to listen to another debauched tale turned his gaze instead to the swinging brass pendulum of a clock. Small and jade it was, and carved as if a dragon. Around its faceplate were oriental numbers, dashes and slashes of gold, and in its center two gilt hands. Under the feet of the jade beast lay an ivory springblade. Beside it was a gem-encrusted silver inkwell and matching cup in which a variety of fancy quills, one festooned with a great white feather, were stuck.

"William was much the writer."

Jack's words turned him around. The pirate had slunk to the corner where he leaned against a tall cupboard. Its shelves were, Will realized as he crossed the space, rather full of books and scrolls of paper. With narrow eyes he accepted and inspected the piece Jack held out to him. In a perfect hand, letters rigid in slant and precise in scale, was written a song. As Will read he recognized the words as those he'd only just learned.

"Pirates all are we," he read. "Attributed to… Blacklabel?"

"Scary, that one," said Samson with a shiver. "A wretched wench if ever there was."

"But," Jack pointed out with a flourish of his fingers, "a fine songwriter."

Will raised a brow.

Placing the paper back where Jack had taken it from, his fingertips grazed a thick tome. He frowned and pulled it from the pile, unconcerned with the shower of sheets and dust that consequently fell. Covered in what looked suspiciously like one of Jack's elaborate maps—indeed, with the telltale tiny bird where on the compass rose 'N' should've been—and tied tightly with braided cord, it piqued his curiosity. Quickly he undid the knot and flipped over the cover.

"Twas your father's journal."

Just as fast he snapped it shut, face coloring.

Jack Sparrow folded his arms and studied him. After a long moment passed he looked decidedly pleased, his lips curling into a very slight but rather amused smile, and nodded. "A noble reaction," he said, glancing at the book, "but I don't think he'd mind."

"All the same," said Will, replacing it. He heard a snicker and frowned down at the lad at his feet. Sensing that a snicker was never quite a good thing to hear, especially in the presence of pirates—or children—he whipped from his son's hands a piece of paper and eyed it. "Well," he said with a shrug at Jack Sparrow, "he certainly had a sense of humor."

Upon the page was drawn a rather sour-faced donkey—his mane and fur braided and embellished with beads. Around its head was drawn a headscarf. Below the hooves was writ the short, but poignant, statement, "_An ass for an ass_."

"Oh yes, very clever he was," Jack agreed, inclining his head as to get a gander at the page. When he could not he raised up on his feet, and when Will tilted it further out of his sight he stood on his toes. Suddenly, something happened, for the pirate's eyes grew wide and he toppled forward in a whirl of brocade and lace. Hard on the floor he landed with a thud and glared menacingly over his shoulder where one heeled shoe dangled from a stockinged foot. "I hate these bloody shoes. Torture devices, Will. That is all they are. Probably designed by a woman."

"Funny," said Elizabeth from her perch on the bed with Little Lucy, "women tend to think it's a man ridiculous notions that've ended us up in stockings, heeled shoes, and corsets."

"Oh no," Jack said, picking himself up off the floor, "my dear Elizabeth, the corset has a purpose, darling, and that purpose is to tuck and lift that which nature decided not to." He frowned down at his shoes. "Dainty heels are completely unnecessary, however. Rather make a nice sight of me legs though, aye? Oh, but I almost forgot" he said, snatching parchment from unwatched fingers as Will's gaze fell upon his ankles, "what's this?" Ignoring Will's glare he cast his gaze upon the paper. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped and, with brows together, frowned.

"Beast looks a bit like a lemonface," said Samson, pointing over Jack's shoulder at the ass upon the paper. At the pirate's glare he shrugged. "Just sayin…"

Not wishing to be dragged into an argument that no one would win, Will turned his back on them. He went instead to the table upon which lay the sword his son had so admired. It was a beautiful piece. Not a cutlass nor a hanger was it, nor rapier nor foil. No, it was a long sword, the sort of sword fit for a knight. Silver was the blade and silver the handle. As with all beautiful things, he found he longed to touch it and so, with a lip bit, he did. The blade was cool under his fingertips, its carvings fine and almost imperceptible to the touch.

Tiny webs and flower blossoms swirled upon the blade, engraved with what Will knew had to have been a meticulous hand, and posies, smoky gems shining at the center of their bloom, grew up in swirls around the handle as if nature had intended them to. His careful caress he brought up over them, admiring their intricacy. Even toiling day and night he was not certain he could yet make such a sword himself.

Beside it lay a long leather sheath, toiled upon in much the same design. Roses and daisies sprang up, their edges dark and recessed into the hide. Wrapped round its top was a soft string. A cord of it lay free and was looped around a small piece of parchment. Folded over it was and without decoration save for the tiny spots of ink that had bled through. Still, it was impossible to discern its message, and so without thinking he slipped the note from its noose.

Holding it in his hand, though, Will paused. A sudden flush rose into his face for he was all too well aware that all eyes had fallen upon him. Jack Sparrow had abandoned the other piece of parchment to stroll across the room. A soft, sweet smell tickled Will's nose and as he heard in his ear the telltale clack and jingle of Jack Sparrow's lavish locks he recognized the herbal scent and knew that the pirate stood behind him. Close behind him, for the man's warmth was less than a pace away. Over his shoulder Will felt Jack's gaze fall upon him and then upon his shaking hand. He watched as the dark hand, wrist cuffed in lace, reached around his arm, and when the long fingers wrapped gently around his knuckles to steady it relief washed over him.

Drawing a deep breath he flicked it open. The writing was that which he'd only just come to know as his father's. Penned in precise black ink the note was, and he read it quietly.

What once belonged to a great Scot was passed to me by way of a gentleman's passing. A fine man he was and this his fine sword. It was crafted for his hand by a skilled artisan once touched by his kindness. A noble Scotsman was Mack McGregor and honourably did he wield his weapon in the Great Raid. In sacrifice he died for the good of our men, bequeathing this masterpiece to me. Shall the name Mack McGregor live on the tips of tongues in the passing of his blade from man to man.

It was my express wish to start first and foremost with my son William Turner, but I fear that that day has disappeared amongst the shadows upon the horizon. If ever should he happen upon this tale, or upon the sword itself, blessed be Mack's beloved sisters three.

"Sisters of fate," said Jack, his voice quite soft. "The Norns."

"From blessed light of fate's moonbeams three sisters weave my blessed dreams." Glancing over his shoulder, Will found Jack's narrow gaze upon him. Instinctively he reached for the portrait still tucked in his pocket but he did not withdraw it, for his son's startled cry drew his and the pirate's gaze to the boy across the room. Jack had thrown open an enormous trunk and was bent over it, his backside wiggling excitedly for all to see. Arching a brow at his son's namesake, Will crossed the room.

"Holy smokes!" Jack lifted a hand in the light and watched as gemstones poured through his fingers. His eyes glinted gold with their splendor, and he looked up at his father with a wide grin. "Grandfather was rich!"

"Boy…" Jack Sparrow frowned and, patting his pocket, hissed. Muttering curses he began a search of all his pockets. Fingers sought each and upon coming up empty he growled. "You picked me pocket!"

"No I didn't." The lad's eyes widened up at him and then at the key stuck in the lock of the chest. He smiled sheepishly. "Twas sticking _out_ your pocket. I merely lifted it out. There was no need for picking."

Jack glared down at him.

Will sighed. "Jack…" When the both of them responded to his scolding he decided not to press the issue and instead knelt down to look upon the contents of the open trunk. Gold coins, strands of pearls and beads, and gemstones winked up at him. In the midst of all the sparkle he caught sight of a small leather pouch and lifted it. Its contents spilled out onto his palm. A ring it was, and a style he remembered well, for a smaller version of the twined golden vines had rested upon his mother's finger. It was the only trinket he'd managed to keep on the passage from England and rested now on the hand of the woman who as a girl had taken the only other trinket that had been upon him. With a glance at Jack, who looked just as startled by the sight of it, he stood and went to her.

"Will?" Her brown eyes sought his. "What is it?"

"My father's wedding band."

In one hand she took and with the other she took his hand. With gentle fingers she slid it onto his ring finger until it rested over the wedding band she'd once placed there. A soft kiss she pressed to both, and with a smile up at him, soothed his soul.

"Mama an' Da," said Little Lucy, eyes big as she took both their ringed hands and brought them together. "They match!"

"Yes, Lucy," Will said, smiling down at her, "they were meant to."


	24. Fireworks

An opportune moment. That's what it was as the lad crossed the room to inspect the rings upon the fingers of his parents. Such a nice picture they made as a family, the Turners together, that Jack knew—and quite thanked the heavens, really—his exit was nigh. With a sidelong glance at Samson, who seemed much in agreement, he twisted the long skeleton key off of the rusty ring and twisted it onto another.

"As much as this softens me hardened heart," said Jack, clasping his hands o'er his chest with a smirk, "I'm afraid I must see to other equally important matters—whether they're of the heart is still up for debate." In Will's hand he dropped the key and turned on his heel. "All of this, Will Turner, is now yours."

On his way out the door he handed off another key to the big man. That his exit was hasty was an understatement, but haste was necessary what with the knot in his stomach. Such had plagued him, twisting and pulling his insides, since well before they even stepped foot upon the island. It had grown so taut as they neared the room that in the narrow hallway he'd been sure it gripped his heart—and much to his chagrin it had not let go, not for a second, the entire time they'd spent in William Turner's room.

"Jack!"

He was halfway down the hall when Will Turner's call turned him around. Standing in the doorway, with a look of intent upon his face and Samson looming behind, the man looked so much like his father that Jack quite wondered if perhaps the grip on his heart would squeeze too tight. Unable to voice much of anything save for most likely a sigh, he cocked his head in question.

"I should still like a moment with you. Will I be able to find you later?"

To that question, Jack couldn't help but smile.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"That'll do."

Anamaria eyed the boxes they'd drug across the deck and dropped into a boat. Something wasn't right, she knew. But what, she didn't know. At first she'd wondered if they were the same crates as before. Lighter they seemed, but… they were decorated same as before and had been arranged in the stow space exactly as they'd left them there. Tsking at herself for being so paranoid, she stepped in and smiled at a smirking Alice Witter as the woman reached for the winch to lower the craft into the water behind the _Black Pearl_.

The men on lookout had been easy enough to distract with a bottle of Witter's finest spirit, and so as they crowed together at the opposite end of the ship the women were free to do as they pleased—which at the moment meant Anamaria nodding up at the woman on deck from the safety of the longboat bobbing in the water. In the moonlight the blade of Alice Witter's dagger flashed gold as it sliced through the ropes to cut Anamaria—and their boxes of boom—free.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Once outside in the balmy night air, Jack breathed deep the smell of the blooming tropics. If the isle didn't look like paradise, or sound like paradise, it most certainly smelled like paradise. There was, he thought, a strong note of sweet, ripe fruit carried upon the salty sea air—and the musky spice of the aromas of Intuit life lingered to tease in the breeze. And of course, at that moment, Cook's cooking added to it a warm and comfortable tang.

Nodding at Cotton, who fell in step beside him, he took to the great stone steps. Round and round they went, up to the top of one of the towers where stood the three lookouts. Jack was dizzy when his heel struck the last step, and he frowned, cussing inwardly at himself for having succumbed to the sweet taste of fire that had done its best—although not good enough—to burn away the tightness in his chest. Swaying a bit and ignoring the dubious looks upon the face of his men because of it, he plucked from Matelot's hand the copper spyglass. Admiring the instrument he stepped up to the edge, where Marty stood quite casually on the ledge, and leaned against the parapet.

"They're not watching the ship," warned the mini man.

Jack frowned. Putting the spyglass to his eye he brought the two watchmen of the _Black Pearl_ into focus. Drunk, they looked, and quite flush in the face, and the glass bottle upon a crate beside them empty. Witter's, he realized from the label. With a shrug he drug the focus back to the two men. In an impromptu dance their rears shook from side to side, and over the rim of the copper instrument Jack's dark brow rose. "And thank the heavens for that."

Ignoring the sharp look from Marty, he panned toward the opposite end of his ship where indeed he saw a gold flash of a blade—Alice Witter's beloved ivory springblade, he knew—cut loose a longboat from the _Pearl_. "Good luck, dove," he muttered, following the woman as she dashed across the ship and off. He smirked. "Though I don't think you'll need it."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Anamaria stilled the boat as Alice Witter jumped in from the dock. Smiling at her they roped to the boat a floating platform of wood, then rowed together past the ship. They dropped the small anchor when they were well enough behind it and stood, looking down at the boxes. The stock of dynamite they had was plenty to blow the _Black Pearl_ to kingdom come, but that had not been the plan. No, the both of them could never and would never blow the bloody pirate's beautiful ship to pieces. But… they would let him think they did, if only for one horribly humbling moment.

"So. What first?" Alice Witter sliced through the knots tying a lid to a crate and hefted it open. "Chinese lanterns or…" She opened another. "Spanish torches?"

Anamaria's smile glinted in the moonlight as she drew a box of matches from her pocket. "Let's start with a bang."

"Soledad, you are a woman after my own heart," Alice declared, drawing a few rockets from the box inked with warnings writ in Spanish. "Torches it is!"

Quickly they set about setting up a number of the rockets, propping them upon the floating platform by the long sticks they were fastened to. Several boxes were unpacked and set up. When the perimeter of the platform was full, Alice Witter stood wiping her hands on her blue breeches. She nodded to Anamaria, satisfied, and together they grinned. Striking matches they leant forward and lit the fuses. Sparking up the cords the fire burned and the two women stepped back away from it, anticipating the burst of rockets any moment. As the flames approached the rockets they plugged their ears with fingertips and turned smirks toward the shore where they knew the sound would reach a startled Jack Sparrow.

For a few moments they stood there, waiting.

And waiting.

But the blast, the _gung pow_ intended, didn't sound. In its place was the soft sucking of air. Following it quickly was a tiny gasp, and then there descended quiet upon them.

Frowning at each other they unplugged their ears and looked back to the still and silent rockets on the platform. When it seemed safe, Alice Witter reached forward and took one in her hand, examining with narrow eyes the charred fuse. Finally, her brow arched as she tossed it into the water.

"Probably wet," she said.

A likely problem, Anamaria decided, and she knocked the rest into the water as the other woman hauled another crate open. Together they set up the fresh rockets, and lit them. This time they watched as the fire burned up the cords, and they did not plug their ears. Anamaria's prickled at the soft sound of a chirp and she turned around, casting an eye about.

"You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Alice turned to frown at her as again the soft sucking of air sounded. Together they looked to the rockets, plugging their ears, and watched as the flame was sucked up toward the dynamite—where it promptly sputtered out. Grumbling to themselves they kicked them into the water and set up another batch. They lit them and for good measure the lanterns too.

When nothing happened, Alice plucked one of the last rockets from a crate and eyed it. She turned it over in her hands and shook it, bringing it close to her ear. A scowl darkened her face as she tossed it overboard, and Anamaria arched a brow.

"Blanks!" The woman kicked a box overboard and glared at those remaining. "No powder!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Shh," Gibbs warned Roth.

At opposite ends the sailor and young helmsman knelt facing each other behind the row of rockets they'd set up. Intent upon the quiet of the night they were and when they heard the woman's scream their eyes widened. Gibbs chuckled, blue eyes sparkling, and when they struck matches both grinned.

"Now," hissed Roth.

Fuse after sparking fuse they swept the row until the last rocket was lit in the middle.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"They can't _all_ be blanks!"

As Alice began opening crates and checking rockets and lanterns, all of which she tossed over into the water to the tune of muttered curses, Anamaria heard the chirping sound again. It sounded like flint, she thought, and as she glared into the darkness she thought she heard another noise. A scrape… or a thump… or… suddenly her eyes flicked to the last box, the one the woman reached for. That it was shaking widened her eyes and it was then that she recognized the sound. Before she had a chance to warn the other woman, the crate was open and Alice Witter let loose a bloodcurdling scream as a swarm of crickets sprang forth.

Wary of the brown and green insects swarming her, Anamaria jumped into the water. When she resurfaced she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the screeching woman clawing at the crickets and when the shrieks were too much she reached a dark hand forward and tripped Alice, sending her tumbling into the water. After a good deal of sloshing the woman sputtered on the surface, gasping for breath and letting out a whimper of distress at the white hair that stuck in limp clumps to her shoulders.

"Look at it this way," said Anamaria, "perhaps they are good luck. Ya didn't soak expensive silk this time!"

Before Alice could fix her with what was sure to be a cutting retort, a series of whistles screeched in their ears and drew their attention over the tops of trees that separated them from the other bay. Deafening booms sounded as flowers of fire burst in the air, illuminating the sky. Green and yellow flashed high above as the women turned wary eyes upon each other. They turned toward the shore, where surely Jack Sparrow had heard every bit of his well-earned victory.

Alice sighed. "He never loses."

Shaking her head, Anamaria started swimming toward the shore. Alice bobbed in the water, her grey gaze wistful as she stared up at the bombs bursting above. But when a frantic, chirping cricket smacked against her cheek she shrieked and ducked promptly under the water, following the other woman to shore.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_**Author's Babble:** __A note about matches, and the use of them in the time of this story: While it's true matchbooks were not in circulation at the time, matches had been invented. In 1669 phosphorous was discovered by an alchemist in his quest to change base metals into gold, and in 1680 English physicist Robert Boyle coated a paper with phosphorous, wood with sulfur, and struck them together to create a spark. However it was not until 1827 when an English chemist called John Walker created the first noted friction matches. Matchbooks came about in 1889 and were the invention of a man named Joshua Pusey. Now this is all commerce, of course, and the truth of the matter is that in the 18th century there were matches called spunks. Spunks were sold by street criers in England and were sold single or in sheets. They were small pieces of paper or wood coated with wax and dipped in sulfur. To light they were placed in a tinderbox and struck with sparks from flint and steel. The sulfur sparked—and then they burned. And in Asia—China to be exact—in the sixth century matches were made, in the absence of tinder wood, to light fires. Being that _the idea of matches existed in Europe_, and that _they most certainly existed in Asia_, and being that _Jack Sparrow et al are rather worldly folk_, it is my opinion that matches would not have been out of place here whatsoever. _

_As for fireworks, in third century China firecrackers were made to produce a sound loud enough—gung pow—to frighten away evil spirits. There's some sort of controversy about the origin of fireworks in China… some say as early as the sixth century while others believe they came about in the tenth century. Whatever the case, they've been around for a long time and were probably lucrative cargo to acquire._


	25. A Birthday and a Victory

Will was reaching for the smoking pipe on the bedside table when a flurry of deafening booms sounded. There was a short silence and then all hell broke loose. Booms filled the air. Their blast resonated so that the very walls around his family shook, and the floor beneath their feet rumbled. From somewhere beyond the walls—just where, Will could not reckon—shouts and shots rang out. Over the heads of two children stunned silent, husband and wife exchanged their own wide-eyed look of shock.

"What's that?"

"Whatever it is," said Will, grabbing Little Lucy up in his arms, "it sounds dangerous!"

As his wife and son fled before him into the strange hall, Will followed. With a glance back he realized he'd left the candelabra lit and the door open and unlocked. Cussing inwardly he leapt back. Quickly he lifted Little Lucy up to the candles. The girl shot a look of confusion at him for a second, but then her dark eyes flickered with flame as realization dawned on her. In a circle Will skipped with her until all the candles were out. Satisfied, he slammed the door shut, not caring whether the gold fell off in sheets. He twisted the key in the lock and sprinted after Jack and Elizabeth.

"Will!" In the small round room Elizabeth had skidded to a stop and turned frantically in a circle. "Which way?"

"That way," he shouted, speeding past a startled Samson to follow his wife and son through the door he'd pointed out. Quickly they fled through the dining hall, and Will held tight to his daughter with one arm as he reached forward to heave open the carved double doors. The blasts were louder, and the shouts sharper, as out they went, all of them with Samson at the rear, into the balmy night air. Only at the grove of palms did they stop in their tracks to stare at the pool of bubbling water. Flashes of green and orange illuminated it—and as they raised their gazes up to the sky they saw that what had been so frightening was nothing to be scared of at all.

"Fireworks?"

Elizabeth's lip curled up. "I suppose you will be quite able to find Jack afterall."

"Aye," said Samson as he nodded them on, "looks as if our fearless leader's booming in the other bay."

"The other bay?" asked Will, following the big man through the grove of trees. He glanced back to make sure his family followed, and satisfied with such, narrowed his eyes at Samson. "There are two?"

"One and a half," Samson amended with a grin back at him. "This one's the half."

"A half of a bay?"

Sure enough, as they slipped through the last of the trees to the sand beyond, there was another bay. Separated from the other by a rise of black rock, and surrounded partially by it, it opened wide into the sea. Waves broke instead of lapped at the shoreline. Beyond the Intuit settlement this bay was, on the very outskirts of it, and the smells and sounds that had spellbound Will earlier once more played with his senses. Glancing at Elizabeth, he followed the big man across the beach.

The shouts and shots, it appeared, had been those of a celebratory sort. In fact, the booms seemed as such as well. Closer now, Will noted that the rockets were being shot off of a small ship resting in the bay. Over a dock and up gangplanks pirates scurried, and those on deck seemed most overjoyed. From afar Will eyed it warily, hoping that indeed it was Jack Sparrow's crew enjoying the proceedings so merrily and not that of another less amiable sort. He laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword. Up close, as he followed the big man onto the floating, wooden dock, he noted several familiar faces and let his hand drop away. Curious, he eyed the vessel before him.

It was a sleek brown ship, a small thing of beauty with graceful clean lines stem to stern. Her rigging rose high into the air, but her sails were furled. Even so he saw that they were a pretty cream color, much the same as the color streaking the hull. It was then that he recognized it, and his brows rose.

"The fourth ship," he breathed, handing a fussing daughter to his wife. "From the fourth window…"

The front was facing the sea, but the back they passed on their way to the planks. Will noted with a frown the empty nameplate resting below a row of faceted windows. Their panes glowed softly, as if the space inside were filled with the same candlelight as Little Lucy had blown out moments earlier.

"Aye," drawled a familiar voice as Will stepped aboard, "indeed it is." Jack Sparrow flashed a golden grin at him from his spot where he lazed against the mizzenmast. "Almost ruined the surprise, that bloody window."

"The surprise?"

"The surprise," echoed Jack, standing straight and throwing his arms out in the air. "Happy Birthday, Will Turner."

"_Happy Birthday_!"

That the pirates cheered flushed Will's face, but that they swarmed to lift him as they sang a tune replaced shame with a sheepish laugh. Over their heads they passed him, man to man, as they sang their own rendition of the tune so popular for the celebration of one's date of birth. For once, Will couldn't help but revel in the limelight, suddenly relieved and glad that his family was with him, and that friends were once again the sort to be trusted.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Isaac watched the celebratory proceedings with a wan smile. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for Will. In fact, he was. Will Turner was so stodgy and stubborn that seeing him laugh and make merry was refreshing if not joyous in and of itself. But Isaac doubted very highly that his presence was at all appreciated. As much as he liked the man, Will did not seem to reciprocate the fondness whatsoever. So it was that he sat on the railing above and away from most of the rest of the party, watching as the man married to Elizabeth was presented first with a candlelit cake and then with wrapped presents from his children.

"Open this first," insisted Jack Turner, his golden eyes gleaming up at his father. "It's from me!"

Patting the lad's head, Will obliged. Under the parchment was a gilt flask. Embellished with amber stones and inlaid with ivory, it was verily fancy and seemed the sort Isaac had seen on most gentlemen drunks in London. Though Will Turner was not such a drunk, he did seem taken with the thing's beauty and rather amused by the prospect of it as he turned it over in his hands.

"Da—you _need_ one of those," said the lad.

"When the lad's right, he's right," quipped Jack Sparrow, to the delight of the pirates looking on.

Will Turner glared at him but flashed a smile at his son, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Thank you. It will surely come in handy, Jack." He shot a look at the pirate. "It will be filled full whenever the _Pearl_ is sighted off Port Royal."

Isaac snickered with the rest of the men as Jack Sparrow flashed a demure smile.

Bored with the propriety of the proceedings, Little Lucy looked down in consternation at the gift in her hands. With a furtive glance up at the adults—whom were not paying attention, save Isaac and perhaps the ever-silent Mr. Cotton standing at his side—she set to unwrapping it. When she'd finished, she whipped it in the air and smiled brightly at her father.

"Mine!"

The little girl's declaration drew the gaze of everyone. The parchment tore to pieces at her feet and the gift in her hand drew quiet laughter all around, and Will Turner smiled at Elizabeth before he accepted the present offered by their little girl's little hands. It was a hat.

"Apparently," said Jack Sparrow, "taste for millinery excellence runs in the family."

Very nice it was indeed—a dark brown gentleman's hat, constructed of the finest wool. It was trimmed in cream-colored embroidery and embellished with a matching ribbon and sprig of mint. Upon his delighted examination of the thing, Will Turner doffed the captain's hat and tossed it to him. As the pirate pressed his hands together in thanks, Will plopped the new hat on his head and admired his reflection in the empty silver platter on the table.

After a moment of turning this way and that, Turner smiled at Little Lucy and gave her a peck on the cheek. "It's lovely, Lucy. Thank you."

There were, of course, other gifts from the children. A set of jade bookends, a really big really blue ring, and two matching daggers—one for Will and the other for Elizabeth—were among the impressive presents. But the gift opening was not without its more comedic reveals. There was an ornate set of black and gold cuff irons—from Singapore—a mahogany mallet for croquet, a porcelain clown—at which many of the men winced—a canister of ladies' scented powder, and a very genteel edition of a book entitled "Eunuchs Through the Ages"—complete with gilded lettering and fine illustration.

"Very funny," said Will to Jack Sparrow, thumbing through the pages.

The pirate shrugged. "Isn't from me." He struggled to keep his twitching lip under control and when he was sure of it, cocked his head. "Although I do think it is a fine volume."

Will shook his head, eyes growing wide at one of the drawings in the book.

"What is from me," said Jack, flicking a hand toward the open doors of the captain's quarters, "awaits your attention."

Will considered him. "Do I want to find out?"

Jack frowned. "Well I don't know." He raised his brows. "Do you?"

"Yes. Unless," said Will, taking the book over to Jack and foisting a picture at him, "it is a pair of _scissors_."

"No!" Horror showed upon the face of Jack Sparrow. "No, no it's not that. Those." He winced, promptly shutting the book, and rolled a doleful gaze to the sky. "And just when I had thought those nightmares would never return…" His dark eyes fell on Will and he nodded. "I'd take Commodore Custard _any_ day over those."

"Who?"

"Never you mind," said the pirate, flashing a grin and grabbing his arm. "Let's get to it."

Under Isaac's heels they disappeared, Jack and the Turner family. The pirates on deck resumed their most impersonable celebration, clanging mugs and bottles together and shouting gleefully words that were most likely impolite. Isaac was glad for the flagon thrown his way. He uncapped it, drank from it, and wiped his mouth most improperly with his forearm. Nodding at Cotton, he flipped backwards onto his feet to mingle amongst the men in hopes of finding some sort of fun that would lift his spirits.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Indeed, Will saw that the captain's quarters were alight with candles, and many of them at that. All dripping wax, their flames burned bright and warmed the place. They served well to compliment the gold and cream tones throughout, as well as the glossy woodwork, and to dance over the impressively rendered maps covering the walls. In the center of the room sat a matching round table flanked by several overstuffed chairs, and to the right a glossy, well-appointed desk. But Jack Sparrow led them to the left, where stood a large easel draped in white drop cloth.

The pirate whipped the cloth over. It dropped, puddling on the floor, and Will stood transfixed to the spot.

"Jack!" Elizabeth rushed toward the painting and put her hands to her face, much delighted. "It's beautiful!"

As it turned out, Will hadn't needed to ask Jack to paint for them a family portrait. The pirate had done so and, with his expert hand, it was certainly the finest. Strangely enough, the family was dressed much as they were standing there ogling the painting—right down to the silk flowers Elizabeth had woven in her hair. That the likeness was astounding did not surprise Will, but he was much impressed that it was so without their posing for the pirate. It was every bit the way he imagined they would; Will with one arm around Elizabeth, she holding Little Lucy in her arms, Jack in front with those eyes glinting as bright as always they did, and all of them looking quite the happy family together.

"Figured you needed something like this," said Jack, fluttering fingertips around the edge of the gilt frame, "to pretty up something like—that."

Will followed his pointing finger to the empty space of wall.

"Good place for such a thing."

When Jack had complained about ruining surprises, Will had not thought through it. Now, as he stood there remembering the windows and the seal that was his own insignia above the stained glass ship, it dawned on him that the surprise was much bigger than he'd imagined. "The ship." He looked at Jack. "The ship is mine?"

"Oh good," cried Jack, "the surprise wasn't ruined afterall!"

"But…" Will glanced around at the decadence around him and frowned. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where'd you get it?"

"Where did I get it?" Both of Jack Sparrow's brows rose. "Mister Turner, when a man gives another man a gift, the man that was given the gift isn't to inquire as to the getting of the gift the man has given him." The brows flicked a bit and snapped together. "Savvy?"

Will's own brows rose. "Jack."

"He is right, Will," said Elizabeth, having gotten over her awe of the painting to marvel at the beauty of the ship around them. "It's… impolite—to ask such things."

"Elizabeth!"

Jack's grin gleamed in the candlelight as he nodded his thanks at the lady.

Quite defeated, Will sighed.

Upon seeing his shoulders slump, Jack rolled eyes heavenward and wrapped an arm around him. "I know, I know. You've costly morals—a sense of propriety rather expensive." His breath drew and he sighed and his fingers fluttered over Will's shoulder. "Tis a fortunate thing," he said, pointing at a plaque on the wall, "I'm not the man giving the gift."

Will squinted. The parchment that had been fixed to the thing was worn, but beautiful—framed with fancy scrolls of green ink, the black, precise penmanship was certainly the same as he'd seen in his father's room. Glancing at Jack, who removed his heavy arm with a flourish, he stepped forward to read it.

_There is but one matter of most importance in all the world left to me in this hour, the matter of he who is of my flesh and my blood. In this moment I write, I have no words to sweeten the bitter taste undoubtedly left in his mouth whenever his tongue speaks my name. There is no value in regret, nor do apologies hold merit. Past be damned. That which matters is that which lies ahead. What the future holds, what the sisters three bestows upon her, I cannot say nor predict nor hope for. Wishes are of different matter, and it is my wish that one day my son, William, might spit the taste from his mouth and sail free as I once did—unbeholden to anything save my own free spirit. A useless wish at this point it seems, but a man can only hope. In vain then I leave these trunks three, filled up with riches plenty. Should William Turner come upon them I pray he seeks an artisan to dream his swan and give her wings so that he and she might fly together toward the horizon. William Turner, 1687 December._

Overwhelmed, he watched as Elizabeth read it, her honey brown eyes skimming the script. A small smile crossed her lips, and she tilted her head, considering the words. When she squeezed his hand, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he nodded—at she, at the family present, and at the ship around them. To Jack Sparrow he looked. "I suppose she needs a name."

"Aye," said Jack, smiling a bit, "that she does."

"I think," said Will, glancing at his father's written words, and at Elizabeth, and at the graceful ship glowing around them, "she is _The Swan_."

"I think," said Jack quietly, "that that is just right."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"I don't know how to sail."

Jack tipped back the bottle—full and filled with fire—and drank from it, all the while gazing at the man sitting on the crate across from him. The sudden look of dismay upon Will Turner's face was so very amusing that Jack had to fight to keep a straight face. Behind the rum—slightly less full than before but just as fiery—his lip twitched. Swallowing hard—sweet blessed oblivion did the fire burn—he sobered.

"I mean, I do, but I'm not good at it." Will's brown eyes turned worriedly upon him. "Jack, what if I can not sail her?"

"And what if you can?"

Will frowned.

"Being the optimist that I am," said Jack, quite pleased that such had silenced Turner's bellyaching that was sobering his sundering, "and being that I've faith that somewhere, somehow, some part of you was meant for the sea… I have _absolutely_ no doubts whatsoever, Will Turner, of your ability to sail _The Swan_." Seeing in his mind's eye an inept Will at the helm bringing about the swift demise of the delicate vessel, he winced. "But if not, there's always Elizabeth."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Keeping an eye on children was difficult. Keeping an eye on children aboard a ship was more so. Keeping an eye on children aboard a ship while dozens of pirates partied aboard was impossible, and Elizabeth found for the hundredth time that night that she could not find either of her children anywhere in sight. Giving up, she grabbed the nearest bottle of rum—which happened to be Isaac Faust's—and drank.

When she handed it back to him, he smiled. "Rough eve, m'lady?"

"Hectic."

"Not as hectic as the last time I saw you steal a man's rum, I hope?"

The reference to the eve she'd plopped herself in Mister Gibbs' lap at the poker table and taken Jack's mug blushed her bright, but the memory of her fiendish flirtation flushed her face with shame. Not only was she a married woman, but also she had played upon the emotions of the boy she knew fancied her more than he should. How wicked it had been of her—and wrong.

"Not nearly," she told him, smiling softly. She laid her hand on his. "But it was still no excuse for my actions then. I must apologize, Isaac. I was…" Her gaze fell upon the roast pig Cook had laid out on a long silver tray. "A pig."

Isaac snorted. "Now that's a bit too far, Elizabeth."

"Maybe so," she said, looking back at him, "but not much."

"Wasn't as if I minded," he pointed out.

"Indeed," she said quietly, "which is what makes me worse a swine." She shook her head at the bottle he offered. "You are quite a fine young man, Isaac Faust. Someday a fine young woman is going to come to realize that, and her heart will be yours to hold much as mine is Will's."

"Well there's no shame in that." He smiled. "Perhaps in Port Royal I will find such a lass come winter…"

"In Port Royal?" She frowned. "Winter?"

Isaac's blue eyes flicked from she across the ship to where sat Jack Sparrow and back again. A guilty blush reddened his cheeks, and he ducked his head and mumbled. "I've a position waiting me in the Commodore's office."

"You're enlisted?!" Elizabeth clamped a hand over her mouth, glancing as furtively at Jack Sparrow as had Isaac. Her eyes widened, and when she found herself able to control the volume of her voice, took her hand away to hiss at him. "When did this happen?"

"Two years prior," he admitted sheepishly. "In London."

"Jack doesn't know?"

"Not yet," Isaac said, blue eyes finding hers, "and you're not going to tell him."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack was trying to focus on Will Turner—whose fidgeting was not only contagious but also becoming somewhat of a dizzying influence—over the rim of the glass bottle, squeezing one eye—the other not of much cooperation—near to shut. Instead of the two Will's dancing before him, which were bad enough by all measures really, there were three. With a grimace and a shake he swallowed the last remaining bit of rum down his already scorched throat and chucked the bottle over his shoulder. That it made a thudding sound instead of a cracking one widened his eyes.

"Oi knocked 'im clear out, it did," said Toddul, blinking down at the miraculously still form of Shakes.

His tall friend Lemmy sighed. "Told him to look out."

"Sorry!" Over his shoulder, Jack winced. "He'll have a headache come morn."

"Oh he was gonna have a headache to begin with," said Toddul, a grin lifting his round cheeks. "Now he'll have a case of the shakes to go with it!"

Lemmy and Jack shared a frown but Toddul was already heaving the still Shakes over his shoulder. With a shrug and a grin at Jack he passed, slapping the unconscious bundle of nerves on the backside. Much to Jack's dismay, Shakes' reflexes kicked in and he shook.

"Even when he's out of it," sighed Lemmy as he followed his mates.

Jack shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut to rid himself of the image.

"Jack, I should like that mo—"

"Cap'n!" Gibbs' raspy voice cut Will off, the bright-eyed sailor thunking down on the crate beside young Turner. He nodded up at Roth and grinned at Jack, waggling his brows. "Best sit down for this!"

Jack frowned, leaning over to make sure that he was, indeed, sitting as he'd thought he was.

"Ye're never gonna believe it, Cap'n" said Roth.

With an apologetic glance at a shrugging Will Turner, Jack turned his attention to the two men who'd just joined them. He raised his brows up at Roth and cocked his head at Gibbs. "Well?"

"Earlier I run into the Ice Queen. Suspicious of me she was, and eyed me up and down she did. Made some small talk bout the weather we did. Turned to go and she says 'Jack knows don't he?' and I says 'Bout the weather, lass?'" Gibbs' blue eyes sparkled at him. "And ye know what she said?"

"Got any idea, Cap'n?"

Jack looked between the two men eager for his guess.

Roth smirked.

Gibbs grinned.

"Well." Jack arched a brow as he struggled to his feet. "Could be any number of things that fell from those lips of hers. But I'll wager me guess, gentlemen," he said, smirking at Roth and then at Gibbs, "that it was something to do with the correlation tweenst the lovely weather and the lady's romantic inclinations."

Gibbs and Roth frowned at each other, and Gibbs turned furrowed brows at Jack. "How'd ye know?"

"That," said the low voice of Anamaria, "is a very good question." The woman glared at all three of them—and at an innocent Will Turner for good measure—as she stalked around the mast to face them. She lifted her chin at Jack. "How did ya know?"

Roth paled. He reached for Gibbs' flask—an action that prompted the sailor to smack his hand away and slug from it himself. But Jack had enough sense not to look at them. No, he was gazing at the woman commanding his attention. He smiled at her and with a cluck of his tongue patted her on the shoulder.

"How else?"

Anamaria's eyes narrowed.

"Love!" He quickly withdrew his hand and flourished it in the air, a smirk lifting his lips. "I'm _Captain Jack Sparrow_!" With that, and with a nod at Will, he whirled on his heel to stride over the _Swan_'s gangway. Planting a heavy step on it, he turned back to wink at them. "Friends… with hopes that you enjoy the evening much as I intend to—I'm afraid I must bid you… _adieu_."

"What?" Elizabeth strolled up to stand beside Anamaria, her brown eyes watching Jack Sparrow saunter down the dock and across the black sand. As he disappeared into the grove of trees, she turned a curious gaze on Will. "Where's he off to in such a hurry?"

Her husband shrugged.

"My guess," said Anamaria, narrowing her eyes at a red-faced Roth, "is he's gone to make nice with the woman."

Isaac Faust shook his head, a flash of a smile lighting his countenance. "Think it'll last?"

"Till mornin, maybe," Gibbs conceded, shrugging his shoulders. He took a slug from his flask and winced. "But more'n likely not."

At the tug on her skirt, Elizabeth looked down to find her little girl smiling up at her. Little Lucy's brother breezed past. He jumped up on the crate Jack Sparrow had been sitting on and threw his arms out in the air much like a bird.

"Maybe he's searchin' for God," said the boy. He parked his hands on his hips and nodded at his mother. "You're always eager to find him on the eve of the Sabbath, mum!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Outside the door, Jack Sparrow pressed an ear to it, eyes narrow. That there was silence and not crashes, bangs, or shrieks was most suspicious. Carefully, he pushed the door open and crept inside. Candles and lanterns had been lit for light, and to his surprise Alice Witter was indeed there, sprawled, lifeless, across the bed. With utmost caution—indeed, with both eyes wide open and one hand upon the hilt of his sword—he approached. The grey eyes that had been fixed upon the ceiling rolled back to meet his.

"You win."

Those words—Jack sighed, closing his eyes to relish them. Unable to help himself, he smiled and pressed his hands together in a silent prayer of thanks to whatever gods had at long last granted him such good fortune. Only more satisfying would be to hear them again, and so he feigned a frown and cocked his head. "Say again?"

Alice Witter sighed. "You win, Jack."

Oh, the sweet sounds of success, he thought. His approval of her words he murmured, laying a hand o'er his heart. When finally Jack felt he'd savored the satisfaction enough, he looked down at her and found her pout upon him. "Don't look so down, love," he told her, kicking off his shoes—pesky things that they were—and tossing aside his coat. "You are a formidable opponent…" With a flourish he popped the hat from his head. "But… afterall, m'lady…" Stalking around the side of the bed, he flicked the tricorn clean across the room, all but leapt atop her, and flashed what he definitely considered his most charming, dashing, brilliant grin. "It isn't every day you spar with Captain Jack Sparrow."

She looked up at him, startled. "But it is."

"Care to share in the spoils of victory, dove?"

Alice Witter smiled.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Whether or not Jack Sparrow found God, none of them knew, but the pirates—and Turners—soon tuckered out. Most had had the sense to retire to the fortress—Anamaria and Roth had been two of the first to run off, but where, exactly, they had run off to was anyone's guess—but some lay sleeping on the deck of the _Swan_. Their snores were as loud as their shouts, Will realized with a wince. He looked at his wife. Elizabeth had fallen asleep some time ago. Curled up on the many layers of her skirt she was with both sleeping children—Little Lucy snoozing in her brother's protective embrace.

"Bet you don't see that often."

Will turned over his shoulder to look at Isaac Faust—the only other person yet awake at such the hour. He bit back the bitter words on the tip of his tongue and shook his head. "No, not much."

"Staying here for the night?"

Around them, at the ship, Will glanced. "Yes," he said, nodding at it and at his family. "I think we shall."


	26. Fun in the Sun

Alice Witter poked Jack Sparrow's taut, tan belly. Biting her lip, she poked him hard in the ribs. Cautious and careful she reached for his arm. Slack with sleep it was as she lifted it—and slack with sleep it fell when she let go. When he did not wake, nor mumble, nor stir at all, she drew a slow, silent breath and pinched with all her might the bump of his bare rump.

Not even did he wince.

"Oh, Jack," she whispered, fingernails tapping his cheek, "the battle you may have won…" A smile lifted her lips. "But the war has just begun."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

When Will woke it was with his head on the desk. He'd wandered into the captain's quarters and sat with a bottle of rum until sleep had descended. His dreams had been strong—the man in them much more vivid and talkative than before. It was fitting, then, that the first thing he laid eyes upon when he lifted his head was the plaque upon the wall.

He sighed.

On deck he saw that Elizabeth was up early, as well as the children, and that all were entertaining themselves with the pile of presents left from his party. Little Lucy was frowning in consternation at the cuffs she'd somehow ended up locked to the railing with, and Jack was approaching silently with the croquet mallet, a wicked gleam in his eye. Will ran forward and lifted the stick from his son's hefting hand, shooting an aggrieved look at an oblivious Elizabeth—eyes wide upon the illustrations of _Eunuchs Through the Ages_.

"Atrocious," she breathed, turning the page.

"Perhaps," Will said to her, shutting the book promptly, "in my absence it would be best to lock the both of them to the railing?"

His wife looked at first he and then the children—Jack dancing around his sister mocking her inability to remove herself from the ship's edge. Her eyes returned to her husband and they narrowed. "Such seems a good idea!" She frowned. "Will? Your absence?"

He pecked a kiss to her forehead. "I've something I must do."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Ahhhhh."

Surely, somewhere there were dolphins jumping for joy over the sparkling blue waves. Whales, glad too, were spouting water high into the air. Fish were swimming circles of madcap delight 'roundst each other, and octopi clapped together the sticky ends of all eight of their tentacles. Crabs scuttled cheerfully, lobster claws clicked with glee, and a red-tressed mermaid opened her mouth wide and belted out a beautiful tune with all of her happy heart.

Bliss. Bliss, pure unadulterated bliss, that's what was zinging through every single tingling bit of Jack Sparrow's body as he woke upon the morn with a satisfied sigh. A magnificent eve it had been thanks to victory and its spoils. Absolutely, indubitably, without question—he had won. For the first time in a long time, Jack Sparrow bested the woman known to most men as the Ice Queen of the Caribbean—Winter's Hiss—Miss Alice _You'll Never Best Me, Jack Sparrow_ Witter. Won, he had, and lost had… she. Jack frowned, his hands coming up empty as he reached for her.

Empty.

Suddenly the tingling made much more sense as Jack Sparrow sat bolt upright in bed. There were no linens—no sheets, blankets, throws, coverlets—not a stitch of… of… his eyes grew wide. "_Me stitches_!"

Frantic, he leapt from bed and dashed toward the door—where he promptly remembered his bare bottom and fell back, biting his knuckles to keep from shrieking aloud. Instead he whimpered. Quietly.

"Good morning Jack," sang a sickeningly sweet voice through the door. "Sleep sound?"

"Apparently," he growled.

"What's twisting your britches, Captain Victorious?" Alice clucked her tongue. "Ooh, I forgot… yours've gone missing!"

"Witch," he hissed at her. "Give them back!"

"Ah ah ah!" Alice Witter's light laugh floated through the door. "Such surly words will surely _never_ entice me to do so. You should know better than that, sweetcheeks."

Jack opened his mouth to yell but smiled instead at the door. "What cheeks are you talking about?"

There was an abrupt silence and then the impatient tap of a heel. "Does it matter?"

"_Does it_—no! I'm giving you to the count of—"

"Apologize—"

"—three and—"

"Ask nicely—"

"—if you don't—"

"_Beg for mercy_!"

"_Absolutely not_!"

She laughed. "Too bad, then."

The quick tap of heels away drained the color from Jack's face. Fast red colored it, and he kicked the door. Furious, he whipped around to glare at the bed—bloody stupid thing—but the anger faded as his gaze filled with the black silk still swaying from its spiral posts. Eyeing the drapes, his brows rose.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

On the stroll through the trees, Will saw Jack Sparrow approaching. He did a double take, however, as he realized that he was not looking at Jack Sparrow at all, but at someone dressed in his clothes. All of his clothes, it seemed. Down the bulky shoulders of several coats, vests, and shirts tumbled white curls from under no less than three hats. Alice Witter tipped one at him and continued on her way. Deciding that whatever was going on was most likely not of his concern and most likely more trouble than was worth concerning himself with, Will continued on his.

Inside the courtyard with the bubbling pool of gold, Will was walking toward the double doors that led into the great dining hall when they slid a sliver's width open. There they stopped. One dark eye peered out at him, and Will blinked as it did.

"Jack?"

The doors slid open a bit more to allow the pirate's head to pop out. It did and both dark eyes flicked at him before glancing furtively left and right. Hair beads and ornaments clacked with the sudden movement and then a nervous smile lit Jack Sparrow's face. "Morning Mister Turner! How nice to see you so early!"

"Nice to see you too, Jack," said Will, reaching pointedly for the yet unopened doors. "Might I get through?"

Jack's hands shot forward to hold the doors closed around his head. "Will!" His eyes narrowed upon him and then widened ever so slightly as something seemed to dawn on him. "Is there something you're needing? Far be it from me to be an ungracious host—glass of water? Piece of fruit? Brush for your teeth—always good to brush your teeth in the morn, I'm told. Anything?"

Frustrated, Will sighed and pushed the doors open, only to feel them resist again.

"Surely there must be something!"

"My admittance into the dining hall would be appreciated." Will raised his brows at him. "Please?"

"That?" Jack smiled. "But Will, there is nothing to eat at this hour in the dining hall. Cook's not even awake!"

Finally irritated, Will grabbed the doors and wrenched them open. His brows rose. By all appearances, Jack Sparrow had not a stitch of clothing to his name. Quite dismayed was the pirate as he attempted to look as discerning as always—an attempt in vain as such was a difficult task whilst being swathed in silk. Glancing down past the black toga to his bare feet, Jack winced and turned narrow eyes on Will.

"Not a word, Mister Turner!"

"Don't worry, Jack." Will smiled sweetly at him in passing. "It's all Greek to me!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Tlothes!"

Elizabeth was yet examining _Eunuchs Through the Ages_—a book she found morbidly fascinating—when her daughter's shout drew her attention. She looked up at her manacled children to see Little Lucy pointing with her free hand toward the sand. A veritable pile of Jack Sparrow's clothes seemed to have sprouted legs and fast learned how to tred. Plodding over the black stuff along the beach they were. Apparently shaky on their new feet, the clothes fell to the sand in a heap. They struggled to right themselves. Elizabeth arched a brow. Unperturbed she was and so returned to her text.

For several moments all Elizabeth could think about were the terrifying shears that those poor eunuchs learned to fear throughout time immemorial. Clippers of the worst kind, they were long and sharp, needle-like apparati—

"Uncle Jack!"

Indeed, Jack's startled cry turned both Elizabeth and the pile of clothes toward the figure emerging—with difficulty—from the grove of palm trees. If it had not been for the wild, embellished hair and fussingly fluttering fingers, one could have easily mistaken Jack Sparrow for a strange native of far-off Greece—the black toga he wore quite barely covering his bare skin and rippling in the breeze as he charged toward the stunned still pile of clothes. Tripping a bit, they snatched up the hat that had fallen, plopped it atop the others, and sped in the other direction. A look of pure, vitriolic fury darkened Jack Sparrow's face as he raced after them.

"Told ye," grumbled a groggy Gibbs, "wouldn't last past morn."

Elizabeth shrugged and resumed her reading.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"You've nowhere to run, you terrible witch!"

Jack found it somewhat disturbing to be shouting such at a pile of his apparel. Also disturbing, he noted with a grimace, was the sand sloughing up his legs to stick to skin not meant for such grit to stick to. Although, he thought with a twisted lip, the toga was actually not all that bad—in fact, it was quite nice in that it was a rather freedom-giving garment allowing for much unhampered movement and the gentle, soothing caress of the warm, morning breeze. The Greeks, he decided, had been onto something. But the commentary in his head suddenly reminded him why he was hurtling over hot sand after a thicket of his threads and he scowled, letting loose a low growl.

"Oh yes I do you putrid pestilence!" Alice Witter's shriek was shrill. "The bubbling tar awaits your precious togs!"

"Oh no it doesn't," he hollered, gaining on her, "not if I can help it!"

"Too bad you can't," she shouted back. Within a matter of seconds her heels struck the rocks overlooking the spot where they both knew bubbled the viscous stuff and she whirled, arm emerging from within several layers of clothes to cock and point a golden pistol at him. "Ha!"

Jack held up his hands, stopping in his tracks only paces away.

"I would consider," she said, tapping her heel to a nice even rhythm, "not washing your wardrobe in molten mess if _perhaps_ you would grace me with the words you insisted fall from my lips last night."

Jack's eyes narrowed at her.

Hers narrowed at him.

"Alright," he said, unable to resist a smarmy smile. "You shall hear them. But not," he said, glancing worriedly at his favorite tricorn—so worn and familiar, "before you give me my hat!"

"And then you will say what you made me say?"

"Aye, I will."

"Last night?"

"I will say what I made you say last night if you return my hat. To me. Now."

With a shrug, she tossed it to him.

Shoving it on his head, he crossed his arms and glared at her. "Yes."

"What?"

"_Yes_," he said, lifting his chin, "as I remember, love, you said such repeatedly."

In a fit of outrage she whipped off her outermost layer—his very fine, very expensive black coat—the one trimmed in gold—and hurled it to the bubbling tar below. There was an audible crackle as it went up in flames and the subsequent gurgle of the stuff as it swallowed it under. At such Alice Witter smiled.

"Alright!" Jack, though silently fuming and plotting her departure from the living world, smiled back. "As I seem to recall…" he trailed off, the delight and amusement on her face quite changing his mind, "me own blessed name was much uttered fervently as well. Could it be ye want to hear me say me own name, love?"

"You really are pushing me," she spat, tossing the matching black hat to the tar. As it made much the same sounds as its mate, her fingers hitched on the blue waistcoat—his favorite bloody waistcoat to be exact—and she glared at him as she nearly lost her balance. "I'd not push further."

"Listen," he said, beginning to get a bit nervous, "I think you should get down from there."

"Not until you say what I want to hear!"

"_That_ isn't very—safe," he told her, voice rising with anxiety as his gaze cut to her trembling stance upon the rocks, "and I don't fancy diving into scalding hot hell after you, so please—"

"Blast," she cried, nearly falling backwards, "say it, Sparrow!"

"Fine," he yelled, throwing up his hands in both defeat and alarm, "you win, Alice Witter! You have beaten me into submission! You have outsmarted me at every turn, outwitted me in every way, and, _now_, you win! Happy?!"

"Mmm. No," she said, standing quite steady and straight upon the rocks, a look of pure euphoria on her face, "_ecstatic_." Stepping down quite daintily, she crossed the space between them and reached for his face. Her grey eyes turned doleful upon him and her lips pouted. "Was _Captain_ Jack Sparrow himself worried about lit'l ol' me?"

Biting his lip in the haze of his fury, Jack put on a cool front and raised his brows. "No." He plucked the blue waistcoat from her grasp and eyed it lovingly. "Was worried about me vestments."

"Ah," she said in a voice that smacked of disbelief, "well I suppose I don't blame you. Look quite silly, you do, in that little Greek number of yours."

"Yes, well," he said, yanking the rest of his garb from her person, "I imagine no less silly than you looked when it was you were coated in crickets." As outrage showed suddenly upon her face he leaned in to silence her mouth with his own and pressed a finger to her lips as he pulled away. "Enough with the chit chat, darling. Off with me britches."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Once in the room that was his father's, Will lit a few candles and tossed his coat over a chair. For only a moment did he feel as if he were an intruder, and then the moment was gone. Before he had the sense to back out of the room and forget wanting to do what it was he intended upon doing, he grabbed the thick journal, strode to the bed, plopped down on it, and untied the leather straps to flip the tome open.

A tiny cloud of dust puffed when the journal parted in the middle. Wincing and blowing it away, Will flipped to the first page of fine handwriting on yellowing parchment and forced himself to read the words. For a moment they wavered, but he blinked such difficulty away.

It is with highest hopes on this third day of January, 1660, that I, William Turner, pen this beginning of this fine volume: Today is the first day of the rest of my god-given life and tomorrow I choose my path…

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The next time Elizabeth saw Jack Sparrow, it was surely afternoon with the sun so high, and so she raised a brow at he and the doll of a woman strolling calmly along the water's edge. It had been ages since they'd raced out of sight. Both carrying Jack's clothes they seemed to be discussing something of importance. Alice Witter's bow-shaped mouth was pursed and Jack Sparrow's brow was knit. Briefly, Elizabeth wondered if Isaac Faust had told them of his awaiting position in the Commodore's office, but she dismissed the idea quickly as she knew if such was so Jack Sparrow's reaction would have been made known throughout the entire hearing population of the Caribbean. Since she could not discern what it was the two were talking about, and since she freely admitted she was a woman of burning curiosity, Elizabeth stood tall on the _Swan_ and waved them over.

It was a matter of minutes and then Jack Sparrow, dressed not in a ridiculous toga but in his favorite threads and on the arm of a rosy-cheeked Alice Witter, was strolling aboard the ship. At the disarray on deck, particularly several of the pirates yet to wake from their passing out the previous evening, he raised his brows. "Looks as if a merry time was had by all."

"Yes," said Elizabeth, shielding her eyes from the sun to squint at the pirate and the woman, "I suppose so. Though I must say, it's probably much more merry a time if you're the one snoring instead of the one listening to it."

"To that," said Alice Witter, lifting her chin to narrow her eyes at Jack, "I say 'amen'."

The pirate gave her the same narrow look. Defiantly, he tossed his mane. But upon noticing the woman's look of incredulity he flashed a brilliant smile at both she and Elizabeth.

"Where are my manners?" Elizabeth clapped a hand to her head. "I should have asked about your evening. More than a few of us were curious as to your whereabouts, Captain Sparrow."

"Miss me, did you?" Jack's twitch of a smile faded to a twist of confusion. Eyes wandering from the women, his gaze fell upon the two sundrowsy children still cuffed to the rail of the ship. Startled, he pressed a hand to his heart. "I've heard of advanced discipline theory, but I have to wonder… what did they do to deserve that?"

"Missus Turner, might I let you in on a little secret?" Alice Witter ignored his question and leaned forward, cupping a hand around her mouth even though her whisper was anything but quiet. "It's always best not to wonder about Jack. It's a bit dangerous once you start."

"Speaking of wondering," said Jack as he pulled the woman back and flashed yet another smile at she and Elizabeth, "where is it Will was off to so fast this morn?"

"Well," sighed Elizabeth, "I suspect he is braving the narrative penned by his father."

"Ah, yes," said Jack, if a bit sadly, "perhaps so."

"My only worry," said Elizabeth, "is that he will not leave the room until he's read every word."

"Every word?!" Jack looked simply horrified. "I knew I should have brought him here sooner. Said so myself!" At the women's confusion, he threw his hands up as if they'd missed something obvious. "It's a sizable tome! There's likely a lot of bloody words in that thing! This is Will we're talking about—such could take weeks! Even months! Perhaps a year!"

"Oh yes," Elizabeth said with a nod and a sigh, "that was what I was worried about."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

…_my son. What a sight he was, that full head of hair and hands reaching for the both of us. She gave him my name. I hope that it serves him better than it has me… met a dandy of a fellow today. Claimed his name is Jack Sparrow but I don't think he's telling the truth. Truth is easy to see in a man's eyes, and deception is no more difficult to detect… _

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Indeed, such as Jack and Elizabeth had thought, Will Turner did not leave that room for quite some time. Elizabeth spent it getting to know a few Intuit women as their children mingled as playmates. Apparently there were several places of interest upon the island that Jack Sparrow had not mentioned. Within reason, had Elizabeth thought upon one afternoon when it was Jack came running up with a tale of the 'blimeyest tarpit if ever there was' and clothes to match. Also discovered by the children and their mother was that there was 'the highest cliff jump if ever there was' and 'the rightest crab catch in the world' but those had been less an issue.

Anamaria introduced Will's wife to several of the most beautiful men of the Intuit sect. As it turned out they were quite good at riding waves to shore. Intrigued, Elizabeth had insisted upon learning how to do such. As that turned out, she wasn't quite as good as they or Anamaria at it. Still, she'd seemed to enjoy the surf and sand as much as any of them. Even the Ice Queen herself participated—shouting praise or criticism from where she sat on a blanket in the sand surrounded by doting Intuits bearing gifts and grooming her curls into elaborate coifs upon her head. Several times had Jack Sparrow made an appearance, either to 'make well sure none of that terrible tar made way to the house' or to 'expressly state disapproval at the gross exploitation of the loving, caring Intuits'. Several times had Alice Witter told him that he was 'expressly jealous' and several times had Gibbs, Samson, Tearlach, and Roth had to run forth to separate the Sweet Queen and Chief, respectively.

With a smile on his face, Cotton watched from a swaying hammock as he sipped the cooled juice of the aguave fruit. His parrot perched nearby and sipped its own aguave juice. Such ease went well unnoticed, much to their dual delight.

Toddul, Lemmy, and Shakes much enjoyed the company of Ladbroc, Marty and Matelot, as well as several other men. The pirates took to playing a sort of tropical badminton—using as a birdie various items Jack Sparrow did not particularly find amusing as such. The coconut he'd finally agreed was acceptable when an enthusiastic Shakes volleyed the hard fruit right into the back of his head. When he'd woke with a start with all the pirates hovering and multiplying around him he'd shouted that if there was to be more playing of tropical badminton, coconuts were out of game play. So it was that they'd given up the game in favor of palm tree limbo. With the help of strong Samson they played such till sunset.

Isaac Faust was scarce. On one afternoon he'd insisted upon lunch with both Jack and Alice. One evening he'd played a game of chess with Jack and on another he'd challenged Alice to a round of darts. Several times had Anamaria and Roth spotted him moping about the library. Gibbs had engaged him in several conversations, all of which ended him up hitting up the parlor bar or poking about in Cook's kitchen.

Much flustered and so pushing his spectacles defiantly, Cook had informed him several times that he was not to trifle with expensive ingredients. Isaac had informed him several times that experiments such as his bananas and pork sandwich—smothered with marmalade mustard spread—was not trifling but adventurous. Such ended him up chased from the place with rolling pins and skewers. So it was that upon spotting Cook playing palm tree limbo one eve he snuck off to the kitchen and bumped into an equally furtive Elizabeth Turner.

"Oh!" She jumped, startled, dropping the big spoon she held into a mixing bowl. "Oh, Isaac, it's only you."

"Well I'm happy to see you too," he said, eyeing her bowl with trepidation. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled. "Cooking."

Having heard about the woman's culinary quirks, Isaac raised his brows in disbelief.

"Well that _is_ what one does in a kitchen."

"Usually." Swallowing hard, he attempted to see what it was—or perhaps to guess what it was—she was mixing.

Not being one to miss much, she scowled, turning the bowl away from his questing gaze. "And what is it that _you're_ doing here, hmm?"

"Felt it was time for a snack."

And snack he set to making. The cupboards he sacked and the crates he looted. Fine syrups, sugars, several tins of cocoa powder, a bottle of cinnamon, a bottle of flavor, a stick of lard, and an assortment of fruit later, he started confectioning. Every once in awhile when he looked up from his swirling kettle of chocolate sauce to grab another ingredient, he caught Elizabeth watching. Which was fine and dandy as when she was busily chopping, slicing, stirring, or mixing he was watching her. Both their mouths were watering. The difference, however, was as to why. Isaac's chocolate sauce smelled most delectable. Elizabeth's… concoction… smelled just awful. At one point Isaac stuck his head over his own pot and inhaled deeply just to rid himself of the rancid stink that was Elizabeth's making.

Running a stirring spoon through the mixture and satisfied with its consistency, Isaac set to chopping the fruit. In a matter of minutes he'd diced mangos, pineapples, coconut, and papaya. With one more solid stir, he chucked the chunks of fruit into the sauce and hauled the kettle off the fire, stirring all the while. When at last the stuff was mixed well enough to his liking, he poured it out onto wax paper he'd laid upon one counter and spread it even with a wooden wedge. From the other counter he grabbed a box of chopped nuts and sprinkled them heavily to coat the candy.

"Wherever," asked Elizabeth breathlessly, "did you learn to do that?"

"Where else," he said, spritzing over the nuts a sprinkling of white powdered sugar, "but in London? Have to fend for your stomach somehow when spending so much time there."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_There is nothing greater in the world than love, and if there is, it is friendship. If there's anything greater than friendship, it's the bond of family. I'm a hypocrite to say it, but it is a truth I cannot change nor deny much as I try…love Sparrow like a brother, but these arguments he calls discussions about the nature of my family life are beginning to weigh upon me. I worry we will soon be at odds if the subject is broached again…a terrible night. Never have I struck a friend before tonight, and I feel worse that it was the friend whom is not only a friend but a brother. Samson tells me I did the right thing but I disagree. Jack was right, and I was wrong. I've been wrong, and the worst part is I've been self-righteous all the while…_

_It's possible we part ways soon… old salt called Faust. Bugger of a man old Faust is, but that ship's plenty pretty and Jack's already christened her The Black Pearl…Jack and I left our chess game unfinished last night. I am not sure if it's truly because he had something to ask me or if it is because he knows I was set to capture his king…torn. Jack offered me a spot on the Pearl. Samson's offer still stands as well. So it is that I find myself at yet another crossroads without a clue as to however I will choose which journey to go on…_

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"It looks delicious," Elizabeth said, reaching forward eagerly only to have her fingers smacked away.

Isaac raised his brows reproachfully. "Ah ah. That's to cool. This," he said, twirling the chocolate-coated wedge toward her lips and smiling as she unabashedly licked it clean, "is for tasting."

"What's for tasting?"

That the both of them jumped guiltily did not faze Jack Sparrow. No, the pirate captain—dressed in cotton sleeping clothes complete with tasseled cap—only shrugged and sauntered in, his slippers slapping tile as he did so. To the cupboard he went, and through the many tins and containers he searched until at long last he procured a tin from the very back. With a flourish he pulled it out, uncapped it, and popped one very red, very plump cherry into his mouth. Murmuring his approval, he plucked another from the tin and raised a brow at the lad and the woman watching him.

"Rum's not the only thing I crave, you know," said Jack. Then, suddenly, he seemed to remember his garb. Eyes unlined found the tassel of the cap resting on his chest and he winced, flicking it away as if such vastly improved upon his appearance. "It's quite the comfort, cotton. Profitable too. Very popular in the colonies I hear."

"Yes," agreed Elizabeth, "indeed."

"Great usability," explained the pirate further, enunciating with his hands, "cotton has. Can make anything out of it." He paused, popping another cherry into his mouth and then spoke around it. "The touch of it. The feel… truly, cotton is sure to be the fabric of our lives."

Isaac smiled. "You look silly."

"Yes I know," agreed Jack Sparrow. "But I believe I was asking what it was you said was for tasting."

"Oooh, it's delicious," said Elizabeth, fingers itching toward the spread of chocolate only to be smacked away once more. She sighed and turned back to her own mixing bowl. "Fine…"

Jack, upon seeing the woman with her hand upon a spoon, shared a horrified look with Isaac and paled. "Elizabeth! What are you doing?!"

"What?" The woman's eyes widened innocently at the pirate and then turned toward the lumpy mixture. "Oh. Well… I'm cooking."

"And what," asked Jack, voice rising with anxiety as he noted the orange color of the contents, "Missus Turner, are you cooking exactly?"

"To start," said Elizabeth, stirring the stuff violently, "raspberries, walnuts, and mustard. Then," she said, mixing and sifting it a bit, "honey, cream, curry spice, and flour. And…"

Seeing her lips curl up in a small smile, Jack's eyes widened. "And?!"

She tilted her head, mashing the mixture violently. "Yams."

"_Yams_?!"

"Yams," she confirmed.

"Does this recipe have a name?"

"Yes it does. This," she answered Isaac, smiling at him and showing the bowl, "is Yam Pudding."

"Yam Pudding?!" The pirate slapped the lid on the cherries and stalked over to her, inspecting with suspicion the lumpy orange yuck. As his nose caught its scent he backed away warily. "What in heaven—or should I say hell—inspired this… this…" he trailed off, apparently unable to give a name to what it was he thought she'd made, "this aberrant abomination?!"

"Well," said Elizabeth, "it came to me awhile ago, actually. Quite a shock, I know, but you see, Captain Sparrow… it just so happens that I get verily _inspired_ when I am waked _early in the morn_."

Jack, quite realizing the error of his ways, bit hard into his fist.

Isaac shook his head. "You told Will to wake her, didn't you?"

Jack nodded, watching with wider eyes as Elizabeth dumped a number of red beets and onions into the mix.

Suddenly fearing for the woman's safety, Isaac chopped off a piece of the cooling candy and presented it to his captain. Sniffing it out, the pirate's eyes crossed to see it under his nose. With a frown he took it and nibbled on its edge. Eyeing it near as suspiciously as he'd eyed the yam pudding, he took another bigger bite and cocked his head in contemplation. When finally he swallowed, he clapped Isaac on the back and nodded at him.

"Good snack."

"Aye," agreed Isaac, sampling a piece himself, "a right tasty morsel."

As Elizabeth finally got her hands on a piece of the stuff, Jack Sparrow picked up his tin of cherries. With a rueful look at Isaac, as well as the lad's candy, he thrummed the tin with his fingertips and shrugged. "A lady's request is best served with haste," he said. With a glare at an oblivious Elizabeth, he whirled to make exit.

"Jack," she called, licking her fingertips clean as she turned. When the pirate's long fingers wrapped around the doorway and his head—and pointed glare—popped into view, she fixed him with a look of worry. "Will's locked himself in there for days now, and has refused several times to come out."

At the mention of his friend's name, Jack's angry gaze softened. For a moment he looked almost saddened, those unlined dark eyes growing rounder as his mouth pulled down, but then with a decisive tap of his fingertips he smiled. "He'll come out when he's ready."

When the pirate disappeared from view, Isaac Faust handed Elizabeth Turner another piece of chocolate. He popped one into his own mouth. Together they chewed, and then enjoyed yet another piece.

"You must make this for the Commodore," said Elizabeth, closing her eyes to savor a nibble. "He adores exotic chocolates, you know."

"Thank you for the tip," Isaac said, munching loudly on the stuff. He licked his fingers. "I must remember that. Always good to be on the good side of the Commodore. Particularly when your Da's a pirate captain, I'd say."

"Oh yes," agreed Elizabeth. "Definitely."

They were so delighted with their chewing of the stuff that they did not notice Cook's approach. Midswallow, Isaac turned and saw the spectacled man with the reddened face. He poked Elizabeth in the side. When she didn't take the hint, he poked her harder. Indignant, she poked him back. Irritated, he spun her around. Before Cook opened his mouth to gripe, the both of them scurried toward the other door—Isaac bounding back to grab up his confection from the table only to be chased by a very angry, wedge-wielding Cook.

Upon his return to the kitchen after having thrown the wooden wedge at the lad's head in vain, the spectacled man huffed to the counter where sat Elizabeth's forgotten yam pudding. With a disdainful eye he studied it, and curiously he poked it. Glancing to and fro he dipped a finger in and popped it in his mouth. Much to his surprise it tasted not at all as bad as he'd imagined, and so he pulled up a stool to the counter and dipped a spoon in the bowl.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

…_difficult saying goodbye. Never much liked the idea of goodbye. Such implies one might never cross another's path again, and I do not believe that such is so in the case of those who have been part of my life… there's not enough words to express how amusing it is hearing Jack refer to himself as Captain constantly. I only hope it's a passing fancy as it's already wearing thin my nerves…story tonight. Some nonsense about an island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is. Poppycock if I ever heard some. But Jack, he's convinced it's true. He was off about some sort of discrepancies between maps…_

_Picking up a crew in Tortuga is terrible. Not only is the place a trap, it smells terrible, looks worse, and its offering of sailors isn't much the better…already has a crew he's offering to Jack on the condition that he'll be named First Mate. I told Jack to take him up on the offer. These men seem at least somewhat competent…Barbossa is to be First Mate and we sail on the morrow… beginning to think that my pushing Jack to take this Barbossa character up on his offer was a mistake. A big, bad mistake. …three days now. When Jack gave Barbossa the coordinates, I nearly pulled my pistol to shoot him myself. It's my fear that he is as good as dead and I do not know what to do. Most likely I will be as dead as he is, and these terrible men will sail off on our ship with treasure enough to build an entire fleet._

_They marooned Jack. I didn't stop them. I have never felt so low in all of my low life as I feel right now. I've betrayed my brother… found it. We took it. We're on our victory sail… Jack may be the luckiest of all of us. He didn't believe the supernatural attraction of the Aztec Gold story. But it seems the story was true. I feel nothing, for I am cursed. I feel as if I deserve to be cursed…and so do they…their plan is to return the coins, but little do they know that I have already sent mine off to England._

_December 21 1687. This is likely the last I will write as I've already chosen my path. For once it was an easy decision, and I refuse to look back in anger or anything likened to it. I've made ready my preparations. I've tidied my room just for Jack. Wherever he is, I hope he appreciates it. Behind I'm leaving everything I value. It will be locked in this room for which Barbossa does not have a key. I am locking mine in with my pipe, my boots, my dagger, and my wedding ring, when we depart once more for the island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is. I keep looking at the button I pulled from Jack's coat on the night before the first time I stepped foot on that island. I keep thinking that Jack Sparrow might be waiting for me on the other side if they do what it is I think they'll do. Maybe, just maybe, there will be new horizons to look forward to afterall._

Will Turner closed the book. On the table there sat the pipe, the same pipe he'd already seen in his dreams. His gaze fell on it, and his hand went to the portrait in his pocket, and he looked up at the drawing above the desk.


	27. Checkmate

"Think he's angry with us?"

Nose in a book and feet drawn up under her on the swing, Alice Witter shrugged. She and Jack had been at the same conversation intermittently over the course of several days, and that conversation was their wondering what, exactly, was looming over Isaac Faust's head so much that he kept mostly to himself. That he was a sucker for being the center of attention they knew well and so his behavior was odd. Alice had chalked it up to his being told to leave Elizabeth Turner alone, but Jack wasn't convinced and remained much worried about the boy.

"He's no reason to be."

"No reason to be?" Jack, sprawled in a chair with a glass of wine in his hand, frowned at her. "We left him in London."

"No," she said tiredly, "I know I've said that I played a part in the leaving the lad in London plot, but that was only to assuage your conscience—if you have one, that is."

Jack's jaw dropped.

"Don't look at me like that, Jack Sparrow. It was you who left the lad in London and it was your leave the lad in London plot that ended us up leaving the lad in London to begin with. Not I and not mine, but yours. So my point is, sweetcheeks, that he's no reason to be angry with us. Now you, that's another matter altogether."

"So you think that he's angry with me?!"

"He's no reason to be."

"No reason to be?" Jack glared at her. "But you just said it was my fault we left the lad in London!"

"No," she said tiredly, "I didn't say it was your fault because there's no blame to be laid. Isaac knows well as I do you had the best intentions when you hatched the plot to leave him in London. And from what he's said it seems he liked the place well enough. So it seems to me, Jack, that your boy has no reason to be angry with you."

"Oh," said Jack. He frowned again. "Then what is wrong with him?"

"I don't know," she said, finally setting aside her book to gaze at him. "And as fairly certain I am we've exhausted every idea, I am he'll come out with it sooner or later. Probably to me because you are an emotional mess."

"Blatherskite if I ever heard it," he declared.

"Mmm," she murmured, eyes narrowing on him. "You'll get choked up. You'll get anxious about being choked up. And then you'll make an attempt at wit that fails miserably in that, first, you aren't witty, and second, you'll have unnerved whoever's pouring it out so that they stop pouring. It's just your way."

"It is not," he said, "my way. I'm very open to matters of the heart. Just ask Will Turner."

"Oh you mean the one you're afraid to go talk to because even being here knowing he's in that room is twisting your hardened heart?" She raised her brows. "That one, Jack?"

He sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said, gathering her wispy skirt to cross the room to him. Carefully she crawled into his lap, knees along his, and stretched against him, arms over his shoulders and hands clasped behind the back of the chair. There she gazed down at him, at the weary look upon his face, and she kissed the tip of his nose. "If it's bothering you so, perhaps you should go knock on the door and have that moment he's been on you about."

"Mmm…" Jack closed his eyes. "No… I said he'd come out when he's ready, and I meant it. He will."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

But Jack wasn't so sure about that. In fact, much later that night, Jack Sparrow lay awake under rows of lit candles, his wrist rolling as his mind wandered. Such was keeping him from sleep. Careful not to disturb the woman sleeping on the other side of the bed, he sat up, threw down the coverlet, and jammed his feet into the soft cotton slippers waiting on the floor. Out the door he strode, shutting it softly behind him. Turning right into the narrow corridor, he halted almost immediately. That there was no light flickering under the golden door as it had been for the duration of Will Turner's sequestering raised his brows.

Turning left, he found himself back in the little round room of doors. Which would lead to Will Turner he wasn't certain. For a matter of moments he stood there, glancing at each door in turn. From first to third and third to second his gaze switched. Then he realized with a scowl that the first was the door to his own quarters. That was where he'd been and he was quite positive Will Turner wasn't in there—less of course he was hiding under the bloody bed which was rather unlikely—so his gaze fell upon the two doors side by side.

Snores sawed through the door, the third, which closed off the crew's quarters.

Jack went through the second.

There was of course no sign of Will Turner in the abandoned dining hall, but Jack hadn't exactly expected such. No, he'd not imagined Will laying out a midnight feast. He'd taken the second door because, well, those snores—sawing through the walls of the hall as well—were quite unsettling in the dark of night.

The kitchen, too, was empty. Cook had long since abandoned his post there. On the counter lay a tray of unprepared fruits for the morn. Jack whisked up a pear on his way and bit into it as he strolled out into the crumbling hallway. Dust fell as he rounded the corner and he sighed, rolling his eyes up at the flaking ceiling as he bit defiantly into his peppery fruit. Through several dark, shadowy rooms he strolled, and through another dilapidated hall where two tiles fell and cracked on the floor before him. He kicked them aside and slipped through the double doors at the end. Closing them, his back to the great white room, he froze.

Filling the air was the rich aroma of a slow-roasted, rum soaked tobacco. It tickled his nose and sent a shiver rippling through him. For many years he'd not smelled that particular smoky blend.

"Took you bloody long enough."

If it were indeed possible, Jack Sparrow was convinced that every hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. That he recognized the voice that had spoken was an understatement. Well enough he knew the resonant voice with the smooth as smoke diction, that even the short, concise statement seemed a thousand words. That they were the same words that had fallen from the mouth of Isaac Faust was not lost on Jack Sparrow and so he wondered if perhaps he was dreaming once again.

"Nope."

Dark eyes blinked as Jack strongly considered pinching himself.

"It'll hurt," warned the deep voice.

Pressing his mouth together so as not to utter any words he didn't realize he was uttering, Jack most quietly complained in his head about there being no privacy in a place so few ever dared to venture.

"Sorry." There was a soft, albeit feigned sigh. "It's not as if I want to be mucking about in a head wonky as yours."

"Wonky?!" The word turned Jack Sparrow around, eyes wide and brows together. Hands fisted at his sides, he growled instinctively. "Hardly!"

Strong, handsome William Turner looked up from his seat at the chess table. His square jaw was stoic as always, his mouth unturned, but there was a smile in his warm brown eyes. In them something akin to amusement shone. Taking in Jack Sparrow's sudden change from flushed defiant to shocked white as a ghost—whiter, really, as William, ghost that he was, wasn't all that pale himself—he lifted the long-stemmed pipe to his mouth. Pinching the ivory, arching mermaid's bosom, he put his lips 'round the silver bit and drew on it for a long, silent moment. Then, slow as he'd inhaled, he exhaled, and smoke furled in the air.

"Alright," William conceded, "perhaps only a tad mad."

To this, Jack Sparrow found he could not respond.

William Turner's brows rose. "Really? Ye've got nothing?"

"Maybe only a tad mad but a whole bushel of brilliant," he blurted out.

There showed upon the other man's face a satisfied smile.

Jack waited on baited breath for the apparition to fade away before his very eyes as so many ghost stories did go.

"Aye and that's why they're called stories, I'd wager." Bootstrap's smile widened, revealing only a glimpse of impeccably white teeth. "Unless ye right tick me off, I ain't about to up and disappear."

Jack scowled. "Stop that!" At his friend's look of dismay he flicked a hand as if to grasp what it was he meant and show the man. "That… mind-trickery. Thievery." His brows snapped together. "You thief!"

"Pirate," shrugged the accused.

Jack shrugged. "Alright, I'll give you that."

William looked at him expectantly, one brow raised.

"You know, this is very much a trivial conversation we're having," said Jack, stealthily closing a bit of the big gap that remained between them with a stroll down the runner carpet in the white room. Several feet away he stopped, framed in the doorway, and stared. "Probably not what it is you chose to visit me for, aye?"

"No," shrugged Bootstrap, "not really."

Jack Sparrow narrowed his eyes.

William's eyes shone up at him. "But ye know, Jack, I'd rather ye were a bit closer. Little bit warmer that way."

Jack cocked his head. "Warmer?"

"So to speak," William said.

"I'm not sitting on your lap, mate." Jack hesitated at the door, his hand coming up to flutter in front of his shoulder. "You won't grab hold of me and suck me into the icy grips of the underworld, will you?"

Bootstrap scoffed. "Please."

Jack shrugged, sauntered to the seat opposite William Turner, and sat in it.

Bootstrap's strong hands shot forward to grab the pirate's. A terrible moan filled the air. The chill of death gripped the pirate's wrists, yanked them across the table, and shook them.

Quite horrified, Jack shrieked.

With a hearty chuckle, William let go.

Jack yanked his arms back, folded them across his chest, and glared at him. "That," he said succinctly, "was not funny."

"Just couldn't resist," grinned the ghost.

"Aye, figured as much," shot back Jack, still in much a huff. "So is that what death is, William? Trickery? Foolishness? A silly little game?"

"Aw, come off it, Jack." William's grin turned to a warm smile. "Ye'd do it to me."

"I would not!" Jack winced. "Alright, maybe I would."

Bootstrap nodded.

"So. Going to haunt me for the rest of my days, are you?"

"No," said William, taking another drag off of his pipe and blowing the smoke out in tiny tendrils. "Haunting Captain Jack Sparrow for the rest of his days seems a bit melodramatic, if ye ask me. Why I'm here is much the opposite."

"The opposite."

"Aye, Jack," he said softly, "figure it's time we finished this game."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The sea was calm and black under the starlit sky. Moon full, she shone down upon the inky water to reflect silver in it. A cool, gentle breeze lifted Will Turner's loose curls off his neck. He turned his face up to the soft caress and sighed, letting it wash over him with its soothing touch. In his hand rested the long-stemmed pipe with the arching ivory mermaid bowl. His hand curled around it, and his other reached for the pouch of tobacco Samson had quietly given him aboard the _Swan_ the night of his birthday celebration. The big man had said it was intended as a gift to his father if 'those stories weren't true' but 'being that they were, William Turner's boy should have a bit of what it was all us used to sniff'. Will had thanked him, and he had wondered when he would ever smoke a pipe as it wasn't something he did, but now, sitting on the sand, he felt there was nothing much else he wanted to do.

Deft fingers filled the silver bowl with the rich-smelling tobacco, struck a match, and, touching flame to herb, brought the silver bit to his mouth to fire up the smoke.

Puffing once, Will choked.

Tears burning his eyes, he pounded a fist on his chest. "Hellfire!"

As soon as he recovered, he put the pipe to his mouth again and puffed. The second attempt was successful—he only gave a small cough once. Rum and resin filled his lungs and then tickled his taste buds as he exhaled the smoke.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack Sparrow stared at William Turner with a frown on his face. "You mean," he said, glancing down in distaste at the nearly finished game of chess, "you're here to finish a bloody chess game?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Without so much as a twitch from either of them, three candles on a ledge above leaped aflame. Two on a side table lit in succession. And the big lantern on the wall flared bright. William Turner, noting his friend's look of incredulity, polished his knuckles with his other hand and blew on them. Captain Jack Sparrow was mightily impressed.

"Now _that_ is a right decent trick."

"Aye, takes awhile to figure out though."

"Could I do it?"

"Jack…"

The soft, imploring tone of voice drew the pirate's attention forward. Pretending not to notice William Turner's serious visage, which surely denoted a serious intention, he frowned. "Suppose not." Realizing that the man's scowl most likely resonated from the fact that he was surely well aware of the sudden ruse, he sighed and sobered. "Aye?"

"Ye did the right thing," William said, "but ye were wrong as well."

"Did I? Was I?" Jack shook his head. "What?"

"Bringing my boy here was the right thing to do." The man's face saddened. "And ye were right. It was the wrong thing leaving him and his mum on their own like I did so long."

Those big brown eyes tugged on Jack's heartstrings. He sighed, placing a hand there where his chest ached. "William—"

"But ye were wrong when ye told him ye couldn't walk in me boots." With that, William Turner took Jack's black king with his white bishop in a swift and sudden checkmate. "Wear the same size, we do."

Glancing at his lost game, Jack turned dark eyes on William. "Do we?"

"Aye," said the man with a soft smile. He reached across the table and laid his hand on Jack's, but his touch was as warm as ever the pirate remembered it. "We do."

That the candles went out, that the smoke was gone from the air, and that William Turner no longer sat at the table did not surprise, startle, or dishearten Jack Sparrow. On the chessboard there lay the evidence to the game they'd finished, and the tears stinging his eyes testament to the words they'd shared. Eyeing disdainfully his captured King, Jack pushed back his chair and stood. The walk away from the table was a long one and his steps heavy, but Captain Jack Sparrow spirited through it, stooping to pick up the pear he'd dropped on his way in. Dusting it off, he took a bite.

It tasted good.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

In the silence and still of the night Will Turner watched the white smoke curl away. Carried on the breeze it was swept out over the dark water. For a moment, as the wind died down, it lingered in form—a smoky apparition. The fantom figure swirled and then the spray of seabreeze washed it away into the silver seafoam frothing on the sand.

"Right pretty sight that is."

Will Turner hadn't been expecting company save for Jack. He almost cussed himself for having not noticed the person's approach behind him. He'd not heard the sound of sloughing sand, nor had he heard the breath of another. He'd not noticed the stronger smell of smoke that meant he was not the only one with a pipe in his hand. He wasn't sure what to make of the voice that spoke. It was unlike all other voices he'd heard, but so much like the one in his dreams that it flooded his senses. Entire being tingling, Will looked up at the moon as if she had been the one to speak, and cocked his head.

"No," said the smooth voice, "afraid the moon's not very talkative, lad."

That someone sat himself in the sand beside him, Will knew without a glance. It was the strangest thing, for he'd not heard the rustling of linen or the soft sound of limbs settling. There was no warmth so usually present amongst close companions. Unthinking, he glanced sideways to make certain he wasn't imagining things. Indeed, there was beside him the silhouette of a man—his silhouette… but squarer, and less… pretty. All of the sudden, Will Turner wondered if it were truly possible for a heart to stop beating because it seemed his had.

"I hope not," said his father, "sounds rather unhealthy, it does."

Sitting beside him in the sand was William Turner. His dark eyes were turned up to the moon same as Will's had been, but his eyelids looked heavy. Long, dark lashes fluttered on the man's high cheekbones. Long fingers brought a pipe, identical to the one in Will's hand, to a firm mouth and those cheeks hollowed with the man's inhale just as they'd always done in Will's dreams. The hand dropped a bit and then the white, rich smoke sighed out in a slow stream. A sound of content issuing from him, William Turner turned his head toward him. His dark eyes shone with the warm smile that spread across his face.

"Have a bit of trouble with that, earlier?"

Will glanced down at the pipe his father nodded toward and flushed hot in the face.

"Would've showed ye how to do it," said Bootstrap, "but I was trapped in a state of madness."

"The madness of the afterlife?"

"No." The man frowned. "Sparrow's head."

At such, Will couldn't help but smile. "Ah."

"Don't tell him I said that. Wouldn't want one of those," said Bootstrap, pointing at the bruise on Will's face.

Will sighed.

"I don't blame ye for not trusting Jack Sparrow ye know. He is a pirate."

"So were you."

William Turner nodded. "So I was."

"I trust Jack," said Will pointedly. "Sometimes."

"Ah." He nodded, inclining his head toward him. "But not yer Da who ye did'n see, aye?"

"Difficult to trust someone you never see."

Brown eyes saddened. "Seeing me now, aren't ye?"

"I don't know," said Will in earnest, turning to look at his face. "Could be I've fallen asleep reading and am having yet another dream to haunt me the rest of my days."

"What," asked William, rolling his eyes at that last sentiment, "is with the two of ye? Bit dramatic it is, this haunting people for the rest of their days. Sparrow I expected that sort of nonsense from, but ye?"

Will glared at him. "It's not nonsense." He turned away to gaze out at the moon's reflection in the water. When he spoke again, his voice sounded soft even to him. "Nonsense doesn't hurt." That his father didn't reply was not a surprise to Will Turner. He turned to him with a scowl, and went on despite the sorrow etched in the man's strong face. "Why start talking to me now? Haven't you anything better to do, like you had before when it was we were both alive?"

William Turner's mouth tightened and he turned to look out at the sea as Will had. Reticent he was as he drug slowly on his ivory pipe. His brows rose, and they fell as he exhaled. The smoke curled up and was swept away over the seafoam much as Will's had previously. But instead of swirling, it dissipated. Watching it, Will half expected to glance askance and see his father had done much the same. But he hadn't. The man's jaw twitched under his gaze.

"Only thing I know about better," he said, "is it's what ye are, son. Better man. Better husband. Better father." A sardonic smile crossed his face as he glanced from Will's hands to his own. "Certainly better with yer hands. A damn good blacksmith ye are."

Throat tight, Will cleared it. "How is mother?"

Bootstrap shrugged. "Don't know. Haven't seen her yet."

Will darkened. "Should've expected as much. What's keeping you from her now?"

"Things that needed finished," said William. His dark eyes shot to Will then fell away. "And me own foolishness, ye know. She being better'n I ever was and all."

"She wouldn't think so," Will said, remembering the loving words his mother had used to talk about his father. "She never did. She never spoke ill of you. Not once. Not ever. No matter how you hurt us."

"Aye," said William, "and that's the proof what makes her better'n me."

"Perhaps a better fool."

"Boy, don't ye be talkin' 'bout your mother that way!"

Will wasn't expecting the cold hard smack across the back of his head. Growling, he glared at his father. "What have you to finish? Finish it then!"

William softened, his hand still lingering on Will's neck. As his eyes grew warm, so did his touch. His hand curled under the dark hair so much like his own and he studied it, twining the soft waves around his fingers where golden light glowed. Eyes bright, he smiled sadly. "Know I said there were no value in regret, but I shouldn't have left ye alone."

Will stared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly with the caring touch of hands he thought sure he'd never feel. "I've friends in Port Royal." Setting his jaw, he held tight to his sanity and reserve. "And a family. A wife and children, and a… a pirate!" That he'd laid claim to Jack in such a way made him frown but he refused to let his father see his confusion, cloaking even his thoughts on the matter and inclining his chin stubbornly. "I'm not alone."

But the man's smile grew fond then, and his fingers slipped through Will's hair to the curling ends as his expression sobered. "No," he said, "you're not. But if ye keep actin' like it, soon ye will be."

"Any other fatherly advice?" asked Will snidely, not quite wanting to hear from the man any sort of counsel while wanting it desperately at the same time. He raised his brows. "Perhaps you've to tell me how to use a fork. Or buckle my shoes. Maybe you need to tell me all about the birds and the bees!"

"No. Think you've mastered all those things."

"Yes," agreed Will with a glare, "on my own."

"Aye, on yer own." Bootstrap frowned. "Except for that birds and the bees part."

Will shrugged.

"So are ye going to dwell upon yer shoddy excuse for a father and mope about for the rest of yer days?"

"Now who's resorting to dramatics?"

William shrugged. "When the boot fits…"

"Funny," said Will, "Jack said he couldn't walk in yours." He hesitated. Then his eyes narrowed at the man. "He was wrong. It's you who couldn't walk in his."

The remark seemed to stun the man silent. For a matter of moments he took to smoking his pipe, inhaling and exhaling slow and steady and watching the white whorl out to sea and dissipate. Out at the wavering moon in the water he gazed. Above it, where black met black, there flashed a green point of light so suddenly that when Will Turner turned to find the source of it, it was gone. Both pairs of eyes narrowed upon the spot where it had been, but both mouths said nothing of it. Bootstrap puffed a series of round smoke rings and blew a stream of smoke through them. When he noticed his son watching, he shrugged.

"Tell him that then," he suggested, fiddling with the silver button of his dark green vest, "I don't think he'd mind."

"Maybe I shall."

"Good!"

"Great!"

They fell silent, both jaws tightening as they forced their mouths into submission. Both sets of eyes looked away and out to sea, and both right hands brought ivory pipes to their pressed-straight lips. Both chests filled with the inhalation of smoke and fell with the exhalation of the stuff. The scent of roasted rum tingled both men's tastebuds and drew both gazes out at the black horizon. Frustration got the best of the both of them as two sets of brows drew together and two left hands fisted in the dark, cool sand.

"Maybe I shouldn't have left, but I'm not sorry I did."

If he weren't positively terrified of that cold feeling he'd experienced earlier, Will would have socked the man in the head—ghost or not. In his left hand he strangled the sand between his fingers. His lips pressed together so tight he was afraid they might crush each other.

"Don't hurt yerself," said Bootstrap. He held up a hand. "If I'd not have left ye, would ye be who ye be today?"

"I don't know," said Will coldly, "because I was not given that chance."

"But ye see, it's either or," said William, flipping his hand one-way and then the other. "This or that." His brows drew together again and his brown eyes met Will's as his mouth twisted. "There's no two ways about fate."

At that moment Will looked up at the glowing stern windows of the _Swan_. Through them he saw the soft form of his wife as she sat gazing upon their children. In their sleep, Jack and Little Lucy were sweet dreaming cherubs and as Elizabeth watched over them she was a radiant guardian angel. Theirs and his too, Will knew. When she'd said so many years ago that she would watch over him, she'd meant it. It had been their fate—together. And Will realized, suddenly, that their fate, their life together, he would not trade for another, even if said other fate offered something he'd wanted desperately as a boy.

"So then you see?"

"Yes," said Will, his gaze falling upon the sleeping faces of his angels, "I think I do."

Satisfied, Bootstrap set to cleaning his pipe. From his vest he pulled various gadgets and tools to do so, his fingers working quickly. "Good," he said, tapping the bowl's contents onto the sand. He looked up at Will with a smile. "No, better'n good. Excellent!" His attention went back to his pipe cleaning and then when he had only the bit to wipe, he turned a quirked brow at his son. "Any words for yer mum?"

Will's breath caught with the question, and he decided to take a good look at the man sitting beside him. Chestnut colored hair was pulled back into a thick, wavy tail and tied with a green ribbon that matched the vest the man wore. It was one that had been worn well over a shirt of linen cream that was tucked into a pair of tan trousers that were tucked into a pair of tall, brown boots. There was, tucked to the soft hide of the shoes with a strap—a boot strap—the silver dagger of Will's mother's father. Spitting image was certain, for they looked much alike. The man was squarer of jaw and chin, but with the same fine cheeks and brown eyes. His mouth was wider and fuller, and crooked with a bit of a hesitant smile. His face was warm, and indeed he was warm himself, his fingertips brushing o'er the top of Will's hand and lighting it aglow with golden splendor.

"Tell her," said Will, turning the hand over and curling his fingertips between the points of light, "that I've found her silver platter and it will soon sit pretty upon Elizabeth's mother's table." His gaze met his father's for a long, silent moment and then he looked far out to sea. "And tell grandpapa I've had blessed dreams."

When the warmth faded from his fingers, Will looked at his hand. The glow was fading from it. It didn't surprise him. He knew it had been let go. Over the undisturbed sand beside him he laid it, and the other he brought up to drag upon the pipe. Quiet had descended again. The only sound was of the sea's froth upon the shore and his own long sigh of smoke. He watched it curl out over the water and hover there to swirl. In its midst, its vortex, there flashed the green speck upon the horizon. When the luminous beacon went out, a gentle breeze blew and the smoke whirled away.

Finding himself suddenly uneasy, Will quickly cleaned the pipe and stood. Through the windows of the _Swan_ he saw Elizabeth watching him and he nodded up at her. Most thankful he was when she met him on the deck of the fine ship with a sweet, tender kiss. Words were unnecessary, he found. Hand in hand they strolled through the captain's cabin to the sleeping quarters where the candles glowed. They blew them out save one and climbed into bed with their children between them. As their hands met between Jack and Lucy, Will blew out the candle beside him and turned his cheek to the pillow. He thought, as he fast fell asleep, that they looked splendid, all of them, drenched only in fate's blessed moonbeams.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_**Author's Babble:** Lots of green, silver, and black in this chapter I think. Black's the absence of light, perhaps the color of the unknown, green and silver the colors of Cancer the zodiacal sign of the mother, the mother symbolically 'home'. Threw in some gold glow for warmth, and ivory for its beauty. Wish I could animate this whole bit! Hope it works well enough for everyone._


	28. Nothing Out of the Ordinary

In the chapel of Neptune, where white morning light streamed down through the circular windows to brighten the cloth of the altar, the Intuit priestess knelt quietly before the polished amethyst orb upon it. The other men and women of spiritual intellect knelt in meditation behind her but she found it difficult to focus upon such as her awareness to the situation on the island prevented her mind from its highest wandering. She was attempting to force all such diversions aside when the biggest one threw wide the doors and swaggered in.

"Oh, Neris!"

The other men and women fell back, startled, but Neris had known that Jack Sparrow was on his way. So it was that she did not budge from her quiet position. The interruption simply put a frown upon her face as her black eyes opened slowly.

"Neris!"

Then it was that she jumped, having not had the foresight to know that the man would be nose to nose with her.

Taking pride in having surprised a woman with such marked sight, Jack grinned. "Lovely morning isn't it? Aye, rather thought so myself. Woke with a silly grin on me face as it were. Quite nice and rather really refreshing! Did you see it yet?"

"I did." Gathering her composure, as well as the skirts of her robe, Neris raised her brows. "It spoke."

"Of what?"

The priestess paid no heed to her many peers as they fell over each other and themselves to follow. Instead, she glanced at the pirate captain as he fell into step beside her. Together they walked in quiet silence through the Intuit settlement, both accepting bright smiles from those they passed. Offering a gentle hand to a small boy who looked up at her with big, brown eyes, she spoke to the man strolling beside her. "Things that you shall need to know."

At such, Jack was jubilant. A wild fire sparked in his eyes as a golden grit lit his face. A cry of triumph escaped him but was cut short by the sharp look from the priestess. The fist he'd pumped in the air he lowered gracefully into a symbolic gesture of sanctimony. Fingertips, however, could not contain their excitement, and so they wiggled against each other even as palms pressed together in prayer.

Knowing full well that Captain Jack Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_ was feigning his gracious praise, Neris sighed and ushered him, the boy, and the three high priests, into her dwelling.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

When Will woke and found himself alone in the bed he knew he'd slept late. It had to be afternoon, he thought, if Elizabeth's side was not warm. Her pillow was cool to the touch and so he yawned and sighed and sat up stretching. The sun that poured in the windows was lovely and he let it warm his face for a moment before he stood. Out on deck he found not his family but Sam Samson. Crouched on a crate and with his huge feet propped on the railing, the big man was gazing out at the tranquil water of the half bay where his fishing line disappeared.

"Thought y'locked yourself in tha' room forever, I did," he said as he heard Will's approach. His green eyes glanced his way and then he smiled a bit, the scar on his face stretching. "See ya made it out in'un piece."

"As much as is possible," Will agreed. For a moment he stood watching the man fish and then his brow furrowed. "The tobacco…"

"Aye?"

"I tried it," he said, thinking about the swirling smoke. He nodded at the big man. "Thank you."

"Welcome to it," said Samson with a nod.

Will fell silent again, his gaze falling upon the spot where he knew he'd sat the night before. His hand went to the pocket where the pipe had been but instead his fingers touched the paper in front of it. Suddenly he remembered what it was he'd been intending to do. "Have you seen Jack?"

"S'there naet two of those running about?"

"Yes," said Will, "but I've a mind to find the pirate."

Samson chuckled. "As I said, lad!" Upon seeing Will's frown, he grinned. "Son's born with th'heart and hands of a pirate. Stole me first fish this morn, he did! Lit'l git! Naet spied Sparrow yet t'day. Think your best bet's askin tha' Witter woman."

At the notion of talking to the woman whose gaze made him shiver, Will winced.

"Aye," said Samson with a grimace, "tha's why it is I'm fishin wi'out him!"

"Would you like some company?"

"Well why naet?" Samson nodded over his shoulder at a stack of empty crates where leaned another fishing pole. "Pull up a seat, laddy."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Well," said Jack, rubbing his palms together, "that's all very nice to know. I thank you, Neris, for all that you've shared with meself this day. Seems to me a celebration's in order."

The priests turned eyes that had been previously exchanging wordless conversation upon him. Neris paused in her gathering the leaves and stone orbs she'd lain out upon her stone tablet. "When do you _not_ celebrate, Jack?"

"It's half the fun of being a pirate, love. Planning the parties." With a wink, he rose from his seat and made to leave, Neris on his heels and the priests on hers. "Everyone's invited! The more the merrier, as they say."

"Remember what I said," she cautioned.

With a quick salute and a flash of a grin over his shoulder, Captain Jack Sparrow strode with confidence toward the chapel of Neptune. The Intuit priestess sighed. Even if she hadn't the foresight she did have, she knew well enough the pirate's poise.

"He won't remember," she told the priests, "even if he does."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

On his way toward the _Pearl_, Jack counted his blessings once again as he quite literally ran into Gibbs and Cotton. With a few quick words he'd sparked their interest and so it was that with arms around both sailors he strolled down the dock toward his ship, smirk on his face. Quietly—Jack and Gibbs discussing many a thing in hushed tones and Cotton's parrot only offering an occasional mutter of a squawk—they boarded, only to find Elizabeth Turner staring at them. Quickly they clammed up.

Jack treated the woman to a warm smile. "Why don't you look a lovely sight, Mrs. Turner!"

Arching a brow, Elizabeth glanced down at her leisure attire—Will's old breeches and a ratty, untucked shirt.

"Ah, Elizabeth." Deciding it best not to give her a chance to question him, Jack wrapped an arm around her and led her into an amicable stroll. At Gibbs and Cotton he nodded and was very glad to see them nod their understanding. "So nice to see you're not in the kitchen this afternoon," he said, squeezing the woman's shoulder, "but I have to wonder. What are you doing on me ship, darling, when you've one of your own to wander?"

"Little Lucy wanted to play with the cats," she said. Her honey-brown gaze sought his. "I did not think you would object, else I would have asked first."

"No," said Jack, "you wouldn't." That she was flustered and searching for some sort of response brought a smile to his face and he couldn't help but chuckle at the flush on her face. For a quick hug of reassurance, he pulled her close. "But that's no matter, Elizabeth. You and yours are always welcome aboard the _Pearl_." His stomach fluttered and he frowned. "Save for when you've access to the flame of fire, of course."

"Mum! Uncle Jack!"

Both turned just in time to avoid a collision with an inattentive Jack Turner. Though he'd no doubt seen the two in order to call for them, his golden gaze was wide upon the book that lay open in his hands. The pirate and lady exchanged glances and then Jack Sparrow's eyes narrowed upon the bright illustration on the page. With a cry of alarm, he snatched the book, shut it, and tossed it over his shoulder. Sail it did over the railing and when it hit the water there was a mighty splash.

Jack Turner gaped at him, as did Elizabeth.

"Is it that the two of ye _want_ the nightmares?!" He glared, pointing at both of them. "You'll thank me someday."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Alice Witter was thoroughly engaged in the text of the book she held in her hand. Bound in indigo vellum it was, and the cream-colored pages writ upon in a lovely, loopy scrawl. As her grey gaze followed the words across the page her lips curled in a self-satisfied smile.

Placing a hand upon her forehead she lifted the book on high and launched into soliloquy.

"'_Can I not sail the seven seas without waking to the sweet sound of sugar that is the vociferous voice of the infamous Ice Queen? Oh, how long the day is without the verbosity of she! Oh, how painful a place without her palaverous prolifics. How can I possibly, perchance plausibly, persevere impoverished of her paltrous pulchritude? Alas it has been decidedly decreed I can not!_'"

"Are you busy?"

Startled, she jumped, snapping Jack's journal shut and shoving it behind her back. Relieved she was when she saw that the figure in the open doorway was only Isaac Faust and not the man whose words she'd been delighting in for the many hours he'd been absent. She sighed, laying a hand over her fast-beating heart. "Not anymore."

The lad raised a brow and tossed himself into the chair across from her. He crossed his feet at the ankles and leaned his head back. With a sigh, he closed his blue eyes.

"Are you finally going to tell me, then?"

"Tell you what?"

"What is the matter with you, nip?"

Slowly, Isaac opened his eyes and gazed at her for a matter of moments. Glancing over his shoulder at the door, he leant forward and motioned her over. When she knelt before him, he took her hands in his and fixed her with a stern look. "You can not tell Jack what I am about to tell you." As she opened her mouth to protest, he pressed a finger to her lips. "Promise, or I won't say a word!"

"Fine," she seethed, "I promise."

"I'm returning to Port Royal with the Turners," he said. Seeing her wide eyes, he held up a hand. "Before you even say it, it's nothing to do with Elizabeth!" A flush rose in his cheeks and he ducked his head so as not to look at the woman gazing so suspiciously at him. "I've a position awaiting me in the Commodore's office."

Alice gasped.

He bit his lip, awaiting her judgment.

"You awful boy!" She swatted his hand, eyes narrowing. "How could you keep something like that from me?!"

"Jack," he suggested.

"Oh," she said, shaking her head, "he's going to bloody lose it."

"Which is why you're not going to tell him."

"You're quite right about that!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Cook felt he was rather overworked, truth be told. It seemed to him he were always in the kitchen. The few rounds of Palm Tree Limbo had been a breath of fresh air and he had been thankful for them. But now, staring down the list his eager captain had writ, it seemed not nearly enough of a reprieve from duty.

"Squid?" At the mention of the dish, his brows rose, trusty spectacles sliding down. With a sigh, he pushed them up.

"You know, I think Will Turner could fix those for you," Jack mentioned, motioning toward the glasses.

Cook scowled and touched the gold-rim of the glasses that had served him so well. "Squid?"

"Made it before."

That much was true, the man thought as he glanced down at the rest of the list. An old salt from Sardinia had once taught him the art of squid. Turned out if you served the stuff in its own ink it was mighty tasty, and a delicacy at that. Most of the pirates got much a rise out of the dish, which he guessed was why it was Captain Jack Sparrow had writ the suggestion. Of course, the man had no idea how much work went into it.

"Squid squirm. Takes awhile to chop the tentacles."

The captain winced. "Do you think it hurts much?"

"Well Captain." Cook lifted his nose in the air, spectacles sliding back to rest against the ridge of it. "Just imagine it were your tentacles chopped off."

Jack paled considerably. "Forget the squid."

Marty, who'd been sitting on a counter quietly chopping potatoes, watched as the pirate captain made a hasty retreat. As the heavy door that led into the dining area swung back and forth, he snorted up at Cook, slicing into another starchy tuber. "Think he knows what you meant?"

Cook shrugged. With a push of his glasses he set to finding all the ingredients he'd need for the feast. Evening would descend quickly, squid or not.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Don't want to think about that," Jack muttered, throwing open the door to the crew's quarters and waltzing in. Greeting the men milling about with a flick of his hands, he gave a slight bow. "Gentlemen."

"Oi, Cap'n," went the chorus.

"There's to be a feast this eve," he told them, hands folded neatly behind his back as he strolled circles about them. "A party. Celebration, really."

At the sound of a few whoops of joy, Tearlach and the two redheaded Irishmen looked up from their game of cards to gander at their fellow mates. At the Irishmen Tearlach shrugged. They shrugged back in unison and turned attention towards their dizzying captain.

"A celebration?"

Lemmy nodded at Toddul and cocked his head at Captain Jack Sparrow. "What sort o' celebration?"

Studiously ignoring that Shakes visibly shook—moreso than usual—Jack paused to consider them. Picking up his pacing once more, he flexed his fingers resting on the small of his back and withdrew a hand, fluttering it in the air. "Ah, you know… fancy feast. Music accompaniment. Dancing 'round the fire. Nothing out of the ordinary."

This drew all eyes narrow upon him.

"Tink," said Toddul, "Lemmy meant—what is it we're celebrating?"

The lanky man nodded his agreement.

"Oh," said Jack as if he'd not known such, "well I'd like to think of it as a toast to an existentially prosperous excursion. Bon voyage et au revoir. À bientôt, actually."

Tearlach, whom Jack knew knew some French, raised his brows. "Nous plaçons la voile?"

Quite pleased, Jack strolled 'round the man's back and patted his bald head, smiling at the rest of the men all the while. "Oui."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Samson gazed past his feet to his still fishing line. He was alone, Will having long since left to seek his wife and children, and basking in the solemnity of the moment when there came the telltale tap of bootheels up the dock. They tred with an easy, assured grace much as he knew the steps did, and made quickly up the gangway. Glancing over his shoulder at the pirate in time to see the breeze lift and play with dark locks, Samson smiled.

"Why Sam Samson," drawled Jack Sparrow, toeing a crate across the deck and plopping down upon it unceremoniously, "you scoundrel of a Scot! Fishing without me, are you?"

"Shhh," the big man warned, touching a finger to his smirk, "you'll scare th'fishes."

"And you don't?" Jack followed the man's glance toward a tin bucket in which a pile of silver-backed fish overflowed. He shrugged. "Guess not."

Samson grinned.

For a few moments they sat there, both with eyes narrow upon the lax line. But eventually the quiet wore thin Jack Sparrow's patience and so with a great deal of fidgeting—fussing with his headwrap then toeing the tacklebox which almost ended the bucket of fish updumped much to Samson's near dismay—the pirate set to stifle the stifling silence. Patting the bucket as if it were a precious child, he smiled sweetly at the big man and cocked his head.

"Sleep well last night?"

"Like a milk sot babe."

"No strange visitors?"

"If," Samson said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "dreams count."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "They do."

"Aye it is then," said the big man with a wink.

"Is it?" Jack pressed his fingertips together and cracked his knuckles. "Who was it?"

"Who else," Samson crowed, clapping him on the back. "Me wife!"

Jack raised his brows. "Ah."

Samson regarded him, well aware that he wasn't the only one on the _Swan_ who was fishing even if what it was being fished for wasn't one and the same. He smiled a bit, just enough that he knew Jack Sparrow would notice, and sat forward, feet thunking in front of him on the wooden deck of the Turner's ship. "Why d'ya ask, Jacky?"

"Oh," said Sparrow with a big shrug, "no real reason. Just wondered. Was a bit curious. You know, penchant for knowing other people's business, inquiring mind wants to know, just last night finished a game of chess with Bill Turner."

Samson chuckled, the rambling having lost him. He elbowed Jack in the ribs and only chuckled harder when the pirate smiled nervously back. It was at that moment that Sparrow's rambling caught up with him and his brows knit. He listened to the other man tell the tale and sighed when he'd finished. "Oi, Jacky. That's a stinger, I fear," he said, wiping at the corner of his eye. "Sure ya weren't dreamin yourself?"

"Against better judgment, I pinched myself rather hard 'fore I went back to bed," said Jack, wincing at the memory. "Trust me or not mate, me bruised bum tells no tales."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Will Turner wondered briefly why it was that there were more than the usual lookout crew on the _Pearl_ but not for long as his son barreled straight into his legs and bowled him over. Laughing a bit, he ruffled Jack's hair and sat up to find Elizabeth striding toward them. Smiling up at her, he allowed her to help him to his feet and once standing pressed a quick kiss to her smiling lips.

"Does Jack know you're on his ship?"

"Of course, Will."

"And he's alright with it?"

She arched a brow. "If he wasn't, don't you think you'd have heard from him by now?"

Will shrugged, hearing the truth in his wife's words.

"He was here," piped up Jack, batting his way between them to gander up at the both of them. "Said there's a party tonight 'fore he left!"

"Ah," said Will, "so that's where he's been all day. Party planning again." Shaking his head at his family, he noticed the absence of one important part of it and frowned. "Where is Little Lucy?"

"Here here here," cried a voice, emerging from the captain's quarters at a frantic pace. She leapt into his arms and giggled as he swung her around. "Tats are funny, Da!"

Elizabeth smiled at the look of confusion on Will's face. "She insisted _early_ this morning that we come play with Ash and Cinder."

"Mum wasn't happy about it," Jack told him. "Called you a sleepyhead, she did!"

"A…" Will frowned at his son and then his wife. "A what?"

Little Lucy let loose a little laugh. "Sleepyhead!"

Elizabeth flushed guiltily and lifted her chin. "I am not accustomed to waking early. That is _your_ duty." Her eyes smiled at him. "But I let you sleep despite that," she went on, lips curling up, "you sleepyhead, Mr. Turner."

"Well I thank you for your kindness," he said, unable to resist kissing those lips once more, "Mrs. Sleepyhead-Turner."

Young Jack's overtly loud gag broke their embrace and so they looked down to find disgust plain on his face. Excitement quickly replaced it. Golden eyes glowed up at them.

"Last one to the swim hole is a rotten egg!"

"Swim hole?" asked Will.

Indeed, he found after a change of clothes, there was a swim hole. Off to the side of the bay it lay surrounded by a cove of trees. They were perhaps the only ones upon the island that weren't silver palms. Big green leaves flopped atop them, flipping a bit with the breeze surrounding the canopy they made. Knotty and gnarled they looked, like vines overgrown and petrified brown.

One such tree near the water's edge was so big and round that Will wondered briefly if perhaps it had lived longer than any other tree rooted in the earth. A rising row of wooden planks had been fixed to it, a ladder of sorts, and Intuit children were climbing as the Turners neared. Will's gaze followed the procession up the tree and out along the twisted brown branch that reached across the tranquil pool of water where stood an olive-skinned boy. Suddenly the Intuit child gripped onto a thick rope and leapt, Will's eyes growing wide.

He watched the rope that was looped around the branch grow taut with the boy's weight. As it seemed stretched to its limit the plummeting Intuit gave a whoop of joy. In a graceful arc over the water he swung, dropping into the pool with a great golden splash.

"What _doesn't_ this island have?"

Elizabeth sighed, turning doleful eyes toward him. "Tea."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

After a bit of refreshing in the sprinkle room, Jack Sparrow ambled in a thick towel down the hall toward his personal quarters. To his surprise, Isaac Faust was just leaving as he was arriving. Blue eyes sparkling, the lad slapped him on his bruised rear in passing. With a wince, Jack called after him that there was to be a party. Such prompted Alice Witter's sharp tongue, which he fended off with hands and tsks faster than her inquisition. When it was she'd come to the conclusion that he was not going to share any more information than he already had, she sat heavily on the bed, glowering at him as he went about his business.

Not particularly in the mood for a spar, he ignored the hot gaze burning through his back. Humming a familiar tune, he dug through his wardrobe—blessed be that it'd been saved the fiery death previously threatened—for loose breeches and the gauzy white shirt that was a favorite whenever he was taking up residence on L'Ile de la Perle Noire. Upon finding both, he gave a short cry of triumph and tossed them onto the chair behind him. There was, then, only the matter of finding his sandals.

"Where have you been all day?"

"Have you been _here_ all day?" With a dubious glance over his shoulder at her, he went back to his searching. "Really, dove, you should get yourself some sun. Does a body good."

"Yes, of course." Alice rolled her eyes. "That's what you say about everything. 'Get yourself some sun, love, it does a body good'… 'Eat a bit of spinach, darling, does a body good'…" She rolled her eyes. "And what about 'should drink more of that, Alice. Milk does a body good'?"

"What can I say," Jack asked, pulling from a drawer a pair of lace stockings and frowning at them, "I care. Are these yours?" It was when he saw that her grey eyes narrowed quite a great deal that he remembered that indeed they were not and shoved them back where they'd come from. "Nevermind, probably mine."

"Well if they are," she said sweetly, "I should like to see you wear them!"

Jack pretended not to hear her and went about his rooting. Having covered nearly every place the sandals could be, he crawled with a frown toward the bed and was stopped promptly by two dainty feet. Up over pale ankles and lithe stems he raised his gaze to the grey eyes staring down at him.

"To the tar pit they will go."

"But, love, they're such a fine pair of stockings!" Upon seeing her eyes narrow, he smiled sweetly. "And I thought you wanted to see me wear them?"

"Awww, Jack," she purred, reaching down to pat his cheek and pet his embellished mane, "how sweet of you to think of me." Grabbing one lock of beads and yanking, she glared down at him. "When discussing the discarded stockings of one of your _strumpets_," she hissed through grit teeth.

"Al_bleedin_right," he growled, reaching up to jerk her hand from its painful grip, "they'll bloody burn!"

A look of satisfaction dawned upon the visage of Alice Witter as she gazed down at him. Her eyes narrowed for a second and then widened considerably. Quickly they returned to normalcy, a flicker of a smile on her lips as she toed from under the bed the pair of sandals he'd been searching for. "What you were looking for?"

Irritated, and wondering what it was put the woman in such a fine mood, Jack snatched them and leapt to his feet in what he hoped looked as indignant a move as was possible. Without further conversation, he dressed and set to fussing over himself in the mirror. Picking up the tune he'd stopped humming earlier, he inspected the plaits of his beard and was pleased to note that their recent trim had done his appearance well. Ice Queen had told him time and time again that that particular facet of his grooming regimen most reminded her of a goat, he remembered—as well as the time she'd attempted to persuade him to tie tiny satin bows to the ends—with a glare at her in the reflection of the looking glass, but really he thought they balanced out what he knew was otherwise a charming and altogether dashing look.

Yes, the years had treated Captain Jack Sparrow well, he knew as he studied his reflection. Of course the sun had given him a few more telltale lines than he'd have otherwise, but so had it bestowed a very healthy glow upon his person. It wasn't much to his surprise that his features were finer than his younger years. Indeed, as long ago as it had been, he remembered well that his father had also aged as well. There was the matter of the creases at the corners of his eyes—kohl hidden most of the time—but then who hadn't those in the Caribbean? Years of sailing and laughter had no doubt played their part in that, he knew. Other than that, age hadn't caught up with his appearance it seemed. There were no real wrinkles to worry about, and in his hair only a few grey strands.

Startled, Jack flinched. The headscarf in his hands he dropped, fingers going to the surface of the mirror to flutter worriedly over what it was he'd most certainly not been expecting. "No!" There were, he counted, three grey streaks amidst the glorious dark tresses he'd been ready to braid. "It just can't be!"

Alice Witter chuckled. "Going grey, are you?"

Ordinarily such would have flared the anger in Jack's belly, but really, there were worse things to worry about than the wretched woman's taunting. If worry he must, he would do so over the three grey hairs on his head and the horror of such that had escalated the tempo of the beat of his heart. Angry, he reached for one, fingertips loosing it from the rest.

"Plucking one will only lead to three more," she said, walking up behind him to swat his hand away. "Besides," she added, turning him around and running her fingers through his hair, "they're rather endearing, Captain Jack Sparrow. I should like to see streaks of silver in that dark mane someday."

Jack sighed, falling onto the vanity bench. Feeling the world that had so lifted him up only moments ago come crashing down on his shoulders, they slumped and Jack fell forward into Alice Witter's soft belly. Glad, he was, that she caught him by the arms 'fore he toppled the both of them to the floor—not that it would have mattered, mind, what with the trouble that was the tragic emergence of the three strands of doom.

_A bit melodramatic, if you ask me._

Jack frowned against the flesh cradling his head. Alice Witter was clasping his wrists. She he heard consoling him but when Bootstrap's voice cut in he couldn't help but remember the cold grip of death. It was at that moment that Jack Sparrow knew right where those bloody grey hairs had come from and he scowled.

_That,_ he growled in his head, _was not very funny, William._

But Jack knew without such being voiced that wherever Bootstrap Bill Turner was, he was puffing the dust right off of his knuckles.

"I'm old," he complained in the woman's belly.

"Well, yes, you are getting there."

Holding up a hand and flicking the finger in the air, he glared at the darkness he knew was she. "Not _helping_."

"Did you really expect to live forever?"

The question put Jack between a theoretical rock and an equally theoretical hard place. Afterall, there had been those moments when the prospect of the cursed Aztec gold had seemed a profitable one—undead meant unable to die, certainly. He'd not been keen on the 'feel nothing' aspect but tit for tat it'd still not seemed a shabby deal. Then, of course, there was the fount of youth expedition. That one he'd considered for quite some time. After that there'd been several discoveries offering life eternal and each he'd mulled over more than the last as it was the years slipped by. Unfortunately he'd always decided and decreed that Captain Jack Sparrow would never need those magical curses, elixirs, and charms to live on in the face of all that attempted to conquer him.

"I _wanted_ to," he sulked.

"Well Jack, it's my opinion as well I remember hearing it was some other fool's…" Alice Witter paused in her speech, fingers moving quickly through his hair as she braided it for him. "That you are only as old as you feel."

He sighed.

"Being that you plan more parties than even the Earl of Essex," she said, tying off the plait with a strap of leather, "I daresay you must not feel very old."

Jack turned a wry smile up at her. "Suppose you're right."

"Always am."

"Sometimes," he corrected.

"Most."

"Less than half."

Alice smiled. "More."

"Mmm," he murmured, squinting his eyes as if to think on it. "You may be right."

"Like I said," she said with a wink. "Now what sort of party is it? Nothing out of the ordinary, I hope?"

"Oh no," he said, flicking nonchalance with his fingers, "not at all."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The party, thought Will, was rather extraordinary. His birthday bash had been a jolly good time by all measures, but the bash on the beach was much more favorable, he thought. There was less wine flowing but it did not seem to put a damper on the festivities. No, it seemed the pirates were just as happy roasting fish—Samson's catch, he recognized—over a fire as they were slugging rum from a flask.

Biting off the stick the last of his flaky fillet, Will noted that Cook looked particularly enamored by the big man's bounty. Tossing the kindling into the flames and nodding at the man pushing up his spectacles, he tred quietly past the spot in the sand that would not leave his mind. Such reminded him once more that he and Jack had thus far not had the moment he'd long ago requested.

Across the beach Will saw him, Jack Sparrow, standing with a group of dark children who danced around him as fireflies to a flame. With a smile bright as theirs he turned round to pat one on the head. The little boy's grin gleamed in the firelight. He took the hand of the girl beside him and they jumped. Sand sprayed in the air, and the pirate, laughing, reached down to pick up the smallest child. As Will approached, he heard her giggle as Jack swung her around singing to her the words that the Intuit women sweetly canted nearby. The words were foreign to the ears but sounded lulling and gentle as any tune a mother would hum to her babe.

Laughter drew Will's gaze toward the shore where played in the lapping water his son and three boys. Splashing and cackling they were, and between the four of them they looked more alive than he thought he'd ever felt. Such thoughts brought a smile to his face, and he turned to look at Elizabeth. Though she sat listening to two chattering women she caught his gaze. A small smile lifted her lips. He followed the incline of her head to the three little girls sitting side by side on the sand. Between two girls sat Little Lucy, toes wriggling in the sand. They three held hands and swayed with the Intuit song. It was as if the tune carried on the wind, and suddenly it hummed in Will's ears, reminding him of the pirate he'd been looking for. He turned back to the group of children but it was the priestess in the middle, a young boy in her arms.

_Neris_.

Will smiled at her, and was relieved to see her warm smile back.

But Jack was gone.

_Take with you the flowers of fate._

Will frowned.

But the woman walked away and as the song turned into another, he sought the pirate with his gaze. Amongst the pirates, some around the fire and others upon rocks with the dark men and women, Jack was not. He was not sitting with arms around Alice Witter or Isaac Faust as they kept up chatter upon a craggy black rock. Nor was the pirate with Roth and Anamaria, though Will did not expect such as it seemed the two would not have been the best company what with the way they were locked at the lips. Samson, not far from them and standing with Gibbs, raised his brows at the spectacle much as Will did, and upon seeing him nodded his agreement. His green eyes met Will's and he quirked his head t'ward the water's edge where a lone figure stood gazing out at the horizon.

With a smile of thanks at the big man, Will started across the sand. It was cool under his feet. As he neared the shoreline it grew damp. The water of the recent tide had flowed over it and so it was smooth save for a set of footsteps. Alongside them he walked, until he came to the man who'd walked in them.

"Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end; each changing place with that which goes before, in sequent toil all forwards do contend," Jack said, glancing at him. "Shakespeare." He fell silent, then spoke quietly. "Where the sky meets the sea and the sea meets the sky, there shall I always be but never stay will I."

"Shakespeare?"

Jack lifted a brow. "Turner."

Will nodded.

"Enjoying your…self?" Jack's gaze fell upon the portrait that Will handed to him. With a smile he handed it back. "So I take it this is that moment you've been on me tail about, aye?"

"Good as any," said Will, tucking the thing back in his pocket.

"Mmhm."

"When I'd requested it, I only meant to apologize," said Will, "but now I feel I must do more than that." Glancing at Jack, he saw the profile of a man who was, in that instant, not a pirate. Though his hands were clasped in reticence behind his back, and his wistful gaze upon the sea, the Jack that Will saw was the one he'd once found to be a good man. "I owe you the apology as well as my gratitude for…"

"For," said Jack in a wry tone, "doing what it was should've been done years ago, hmm?"

"I'm not an idiot, Jack." Noting the wince that flashed upon the other man's face, Will softened his sharp tone. "You couldn't step foot in that room any more than I could have. Before."

"Glad the timing was right then."

"I can not tell you how much it means to me."

"Nor I," said Jack; trailing off to take in the flash of green that was the sun's setting. He smiled, but it was with a faraway look in his eyes. "Take it from a seasoned pirate captain, Will. Some treasure is simply too precious to put a price on." His gaze flicked briefly across the sand to where sat Elizabeth before steadying upon Will. "Or pilfer."

The mention of the trouble that had previously pestered them brought the hot flush of shame to his cheeks. Will looked down at the dark, wet sand. He was surprised to feel rough fingertips boost his chin and even more so when it was Jack Sparrow's gaze met his unglazed. The color of the darkest burnt-sugar rum were the man's eyes, and they lit with an amber glow of dark honey, and Will thought briefly how very beautiful those eyes, full of what could only be the dark of understanding and the light of comfort, were. He thought how the kohl around them only deepened their sweet mystery. And he thought, vaguely, that Jack's eyes fired up much as Elizabeth's, except that hers glinted with gold. But most of all he thought that Jack Sparrow, in this truest of form, was kin.

"S'alright, son."

A lump rose in Will's throat and suddenly he found it difficult to breathe for fear of dislodging it. Such could only spring the tears from his eyes and he quite thought such a thing weak. Unfortunately, he noted with an inward, bitter smile, weak he was.

"Oh," Jack sighed, letting go of his chin to grasp his shoulder and squeeze, "don't do that."

Will sniffled.

Jack winced. "Please?"

"I can't _help_ it," Will said, voice cracking.

"Well you have to," said Jack, voice rising frantically, "stop crying, Will, or I'll grow weepy at the eye meself!"

Sniffling, Will tried to hold back the troublesome tears to no avail.

"I mean it!"

"Jack," Will managed to rasp out, "I'm sorry."

"Oh," said Jack in a strangled voice, squeezing his eyes shut, "the kohl! It's going to _run_!"

"It already is!"

"How much?!"

Recovering a bit, Will reached up to brush away the black that had streaked over a fine cheek from the outer corner of Jack's eye. He found that he had to smile through his tears. "Only a little."

"Oh, good."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"What do you think they're talking about?"

Alice followed Isaac's gaze and found Jack and Will standing side by side at the water's edge where the sea lapped at their feet. When Jack slung his arm around Will's shoulders, and as the two strolled into the distance, relief washed over her. It was the relief that came from their having the moment that they, and everyone else, so desperately needed.

"Everything," she told the lad, patting his open palm, "that matters."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Beside Jack Sparrow Will walked, the cool water lapping at and washing over his every step. It felt, he thought, so very cleansing that in the tranquil peace of the paradise they wandered he felt pure. Of heart and mind, the purity seemed to make light everything that had darkened him and he wondered briefly if the warmth he felt was his soul set free. Then again, he thought with a glance askance, it was more than likely the man at his side. The thought occurred to him that even if he were not drawn so close against him, Jack Sparrow would still be as comforting for the man exuded, at even his coldest moments, a great warmth.

It was that warmth, as well as a host of other nuances, that had led Will to the soul searching that had inevitably led to the conclusion that the pirate, sneaky scoundrel or not, was a good man. It had also drawn him to Jack in the same way he'd seen the children had been as they'd danced around the man. Like a firefly to a flame, he'd flown to Sparrow. What had surprised him was that the sparrow had flown back time and time again. Now, though, after so many years of it, he thought himself quite ridiculous for having been surprised at all.

"Ah," breathed Jack, "is that a smile I see upon the face of the blubbering blacksmith?"

Will shot him a dark look but could not keep it for long. "It is," he admitted. With conversation came the realization that over his shoulder he could not see the party any longer and so he turned curious eyes upon Jack. "Where are we going?"

"Here."

The flick of the hand on his shoulder he followed and found a great tree much like the one that he'd found an exhilarating addition to the swimming hole visited earlier. When the pirate released him from the embrace, he trailed after him and watched as Jack climbed the makeshift ladder with an easy grace. He'd forgotten how much he held dear that sight and so climbed up after him to the thick branch that extended out over a steep cliff and reached toward the sea. Indeed, as he took Jack's offered hand and sat, he saw below their dangling feet the soft black sand being washed by the sea below.

"This is nice," said Will, meaning it very much. He looked up and saw far off and below the glow of the five fires that surely danced in the breeze as men and women danced around them. In the cove he saw the outline of his ship, graceful as its namesake. Glancing above it, straight ahead, at the two glittering dark peaks of rock rising above golden mist, he smiled. "My mother would have loved it."

"Odd you should say that," said Jack. "So your father thought as well."

Will's brow furrowed.

"Said he felt," Jack said, rolling a wrist outstretched as if to offer the view ahead, "as if she were watching over him here."

Gaze falling upon the two glittering orbs that he'd only just looked at, Will remembered. He remembered the face of the woman he'd lost much too soon, but, more than anything, he remembered the two darkest, loveliest eyes he'd tried so hard to forget. Turning to Jack, he saw eyes so much the same that whatever it was he was about to say stilled on his lips and instead he said the one thing that had been haunting him for too long a time. "Little Lucy."

Jack nodded. "Has your mother's eyes."

"Yes."

"Uh huh," said Jack, glancing below at the surf.

Will followed suit. In the awkward silence that followed, he looked out along the edge of the sea where they'd walked and saw the footprints that were yet to be washed away. "Jack."

"Mmhm?"

"It's necessary to let go of those who've fallen behind, isn't it?"

Jack sighed a sigh so soft that if Will were not directly beside him, he wouldn't have heard it. "I'm afraid so."

"It's as Shakespeare said." When the pirate looked at him curiously, he went on. "The waves. Each has an end and the end is necessary to push forward the next."

"I don't think that was his point, mate."

"But it should have been," Will said, suddenly passionate. "In the sea he saw the reflection of his mortality but there's more to it than that. Each wave is the beginning of a new one. Even the one that foams upon the shore is pulled back to the sea. It is one and it does not truly end, but in order to stay so the ends are necessary."

Jack's frown deepened.

"If the waves did not let go to form the next, the sea would never move forward." Will sighed. "We are all one as much as the sea. If we don't let go of those who have fallen behind, we will cease to advance and hold them to us so that they, too, can not."

"This is the sort of moment," said Jack, "that makes me wonder why it is I ever thought you stupid."

Deciding to be pleased with that, Will flashed a smile at him and looked out at the party still thriving in the distance. Even at such a distance he saw that there was much merriment being had. He also saw Isaac Faust at its center.

"You know," said Jack, seeing the same, "he wants to look up to you but you won't let him."

"Sounds familiar," Will told him, unable to keep the tinge of bitterness from his tongue. "I sympathize with him."

"Don't take that tone with me, lad," said a stern Jack Sparrow. "I've bigger… sandals… than yours."

Will frowned down at their feet. "They're the same size."

"As well were your father's."

"Ah," said Will, understanding dawning on him. His eyes narrowed at Jack. "I thought you said otherwise."

"Well," said Jack, "I could've been wrong."

"So I thought." Will smiled, comfortable in the silence that followed. Quietly he mulled over the trouble that had transpired and he couldn't help but feel a bit foolish for all the doubts he'd had. "Ahku Neko Neko Khar, Jack?"

Brows lifting, Jack inclined his head toward him. "Mmhm?"

"Nonsense. The One Great Great God," Will scoffed. He shook his head, wondering why he'd taken such a story seriously. "Whose knowledge and wisdom is contained in a sword hidden on a lost island shaped like the moon?"

"Ah yes," said Jack, clapping an arm around him, "I almost forgot."

Will chuckled, shaking his head.

"We set sail for Antolune tonight!"

The grin on Jack's face that could only mean trouble quickly rid Will of his own smile.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_**Author's Babble: **So… you see… I hope. Jack is a pirate afterall._

_The name Neris I've formed from the Greek word "nereis"—which means "nymph" or "sea sprite". Not that it's important but I've grown fond of the name overnight and rather like the sound of it! Was nearly going to name the priestess Muirgen as there's an important Irish legend of a maiden by that name who turns into a salmon and it seemed to fit with two points—the Celtic influences of the Norns and also with Neptune, god of the sea, merwoman sort of thing. But… it's Irish Gaelic, not Celtic and I'd rather play upon the olive skin origin of the Intuits. _

_The whole 'Can I not sail the seven seas…' scrawl flies right over Alice Witter's head because of Jack's acerbic vocabulary. He's basically calling her a loudmouth windbag (vociferous voice, verbosity) whose idle chatter abounds (palaverous prolifics). Then he goes on to ask how he'll ever survive without visage of her lacking beauty (paltrous pulchritude) and says quite emphatically that it's been decided he shall not do without the sight of her. Doubtful it was he who made said decision. I did take some liberty with words in this bit. Some are bent a bit (read, reinvented) but then I don't think doing such is beyond Jack Sparrow!_

_Squid served in its ink really is considered a delicacy!_

_Jack says, in French, to the men in the crew's quarters: "…prosperous excursion. Farewell and goodbye. See you later, actually…" Tearlach says "we're setting (literally 'placing' or 'putting') sail?" and Jack replies "Aye." This should be right, but I've a habit of butchering the French language._

_Antolune is the name of the lost island. Anto I've taken from "amarantos" of Greek origin. It means "unfading" or "everlasting" and somehow along the line became a word for "an everlasting flower". "Lune" is French. It means "moon"._


	29. Except for the Extraordinary

Walking arm in arm with Isaac, Alice Witter paused with him to watch as a trio of yawning pirates disappeared. They'd not been the first group that the two had noticed. Through the grove of trees the men had vanished group by yawning group. That they were tired seemed a stretch. Jack's crewmen were some of the rowdiest night owls Alice had ever known. Retiring at such an early hour was out of the ordinary to say the least.

Isaac frowned as her eyes narrowed.

Then again she had overheard that near all the men had been busy that day. No doubt she had that the captain had put them to work repairing what was left unfinished of their grand abode upon L'Ile de la Perle Noire. It was, afterall, one of the man's undying obsessions.

With a shrug, she nudged the frowning Faust forward.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The path through black rock and palm trees was dark with night but Will followed it quickly to its end. A hidden fissure of black rock he passed through. There in the courtyard where bubbled the golden pool he paused. It had been only moments since he'd parted company with Captain Jack Sparrow. It had been only moments since he'd agreed to the plan the pirate had lain before him. And, he knew, it would be only moments until that plan was set in motion.

_"But it is a lost island." _

"The thing about that, Will," Jack said with a smile, "is that things lost are able to be found."

"How?"

"What do you mean, how?" The pirate's brows rose and fell. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow! That's how."

"Jack..."

"Alright," conceded the pirate with a sigh, "there was a speck of light spoke to Neris. She told me what it told her. What it told her told me what I needed to know, and that's that. Savvy?"

Will scowled. "Fine," he said, eyes narrowing upon Jack, "but if anything goes wrong—"

"It won't!"

"If anything happens to my family—"

"Nothing will!"

"If anything bad—" he paused at the narrow look Jack gave him and sighed, "alright, since it's you, we'll say awfully bad—happens—" he stopped, fully expecting Jack to interrupt. When the pirate didn't, flashing at him only a charming little smile, Will's brows snapped together. "I—"

"Will not forgive the likes of me for the rest of your days?"

Will paused. Suddenly his father's words rang true and so he scoffed. "That's a bit dramatic, isn't it?"

Jack's eyes narrowed but he didn't say anything.

"I'd forgive you," said Will in what he knew the Governor would call a 'pragmatic air', "but I would not forget."

"Oh," said Jack with a shrug, "S'pose I can live with that!" A slow smile crept upon his face. "So," he said, dark eyes gleaming in the night, "are you going, or are you not?"

Will sighed. "I will go."

Apprehension shivered through Will, but he forced it away and instead strode purposefully toward the double doors. Slide them open he did. With a skip in his step, he crossed the threshold. Through the round crossway he went and down the narrow hall. Once in the shadows of his father's dwelling, Will stopped.

_Take with you the flowers of fate_, Neris had told him. Such had puzzled him. Though it seemed important to heed the consult of as wise-seeming a person as the Intuit priestess, he'd not known what it was she had told him to take. But Jack had had an inclination that Will had been willing to consider.

"I hope you're right, Jack."

Quite possibly Will agreed with that inclination as his fingers passed over the cool silver flowers of fate embellished upon Mack McGregor's blade. Hesitating not, he took the toiled leather sheath in one hand and brandished the sword in the other. Fine it truly was, but heavy. He took a moment to admire in the dark its intricate handle and then, with a small smile upon his lips, he sunk the blade to the hilt in its scabbard.

"And I hope your plan works right." Thinking of the maelstrom of his wife's fury that would rain down if the pirate did not step as easy as he'd planned, Will arched a brow. "For both our sakes."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"No," said Neris, "I will not."

Jack grit his teeth in frustration though he smiled sweetly at the woman. It was not often that he asked such favors of Neris and so he'd gone on the assumption that she would happily comply. But, apparently, the three sisters were _not_ weaving his own moonbeams the right way.

"_Do not_," Neris boomed, "_question the sisters_!"

So forceful was the command that Captain Jack Sparrow was startled. Hand flying to his heart, he gaped at her. "Was that entirely necessary, Neris?"

The priestess regarded him through narrow black eyes but didn't answer.

Sensing his chance, Jack moved on to the tactic he'd hid deep in the confines of his mind. Such he'd done so as not to let Neris find it 'fore he'd a chance to employ it. "If you won't do it, I suppose _I_ could." Pleased with the startled look on her face he was but he forced his own visage to remain impassive. "You taught me how, afterall." In her dark eyes he saw a flicker of fear and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she'd bought the bluff. "Just didn't want to do something wrong and end up sending your dear, sweet Queen off to Timbuctoo—which is actually a lovely place, by the way, friendly natives all named Tim... and Buck too, but I doubt she'd appreciate it—"

"Don't," Neris said weakly, "do it."

"But I have to," Jack said sadly, noting with an irritated flick of his brow that the Ice Queen herself was walking towards them arm in arm with the lad, "because you won't. Oh well, guess Queenie's fate rests in the hands of the sisters, aye? Let's see." With his hands, he weaved the very air as if it were as tangible as a web. "Lethei leth—"

"_Stop_!"

Jack turned an eye toward her, arching the other brow. "Did I forget something?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "but I do not want to ponder what could happen if you do." She sighed, and with a glance at those making merry on the beach nodded slightly. "I will do it."

"You will?"

"I will," Neris agreed.

"Neris," Alice Witter said, looking from the priestess to Jack with narrow eyes, "will what?"

Brushing the woman aside, Neris opened her hands to the air much as Jack had done, fingers clutching invisible threads. "_Lethei_!"

_Sleep well_, Jack thought, smiling at the wide-eyed Miss Witter.

"_Letheseis somnos, letheseis hypnos_!"

_To oblivion your dreams, to oblivion your sleep_, Jack thought, nodding at those wide-eyed in the distance, a similarly dazed Elizabeth Turner included.

"_Hypnos ah oro letheseis_." The last bit of the incantation Neris all but breathed. "_Kalinihta_."

With that, all still present swayed gracefully to the cool black sand. Fallen into a deep sleep they had, Jack knew as well as he knew the words. _Sleep in golden oblivion_, Jack said to himself, catching Alice Witter in one arm and Isaac in the other, _goodnight_. He smiled at the Intuit woman who was the only one, aside from himself of course, who did not fall under the spell. That Neris did not smile back didn't surprise him. "Such a charmer you are, m'lady Neris." Gently he laid the woman and his lad, two of those to be left behind for a bit, on the sand. "You'll watch over them, will you not?"

"Do not worry," she said, "I give my word. Always will I watch over those who need it."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Will all but breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Jack, garbed now in his usual fare, striding up the wooden dock. The other men gathered on the _Black Pearl_ gave a whoop of joy at the sight and their captain gave a low, satisfying bow as his bootheel struck the deck. Anxious to learn how all had happened, Will pushed past several pirates and arrived at Jack's side just as the pirate flourished into a stroll towards the helm.

"Jack," he said, hurrying to keep up, "how did it go?"

"Oh you know," he said, flicking a hand carelessly to the air, "hypnos here, somnos there. Nothing to it."

"So you convinced her to work her magic?"

"Oh, aye, nothing to that either," Jack said, nodding at Gibbs on his way up the stairs. Behind him the sailor shouted the orders and he smiled at Will. "I am their chief afterall. Not to mention daringly dashing. Or charmingly handsome. What woman wouldn't work magic for the likes of Captain Jack Sparrow?"

Will frowned. "She did do it, didn't she?"

Jack chuckled and fluttered fingers o'er the wheel as below the men—and a smirking Anamaria—scurried to ready the _Black Pearl_ for a surprise romp on the seas. "Of course she did."

"Jack!"

"Will," said the pirate, adjusting the hat on his head, "if she hadn't, do you really think I'd be here in one piece?"

The man had a point, Will decided. He shook his head. "No."

"No," Jack agreed, laying a hand on the wheel, "certainly not, what with both harpies ashore. Rest easy, Mr. Turner. They're sweetly sleeping upon the sand, Neris watching over all, and we, as it happens, are off on what I call..." At Gibbs' nod, he inched the rudder's spokes, "The Great, Great Adventure. _To Antolune_!"

"_To Antolune_," the crew chorused.

Hoping the best for everyone, a tradition he'd come to practice almost without thinking whenever he was aboard the _Pearl_, Will sat heavily upon a crate beside Jack. His gaze fell upon the pirate's boots. They were worn around the edges. Soft hide had worn to a shine in some spots. Lighter they were than the boots he'd seen upon L'Ile de la Perle Noire—his father's boots—and of a design of less fine detail. But, he noted, they were about the same size. He was about to reach out and touch that closest when he felt a warm hand on the back of his head. Such drew his gaze up, up to Jack Sparrow's face.

"Unless, of course," Jack said, "you don't want to go."

"I agreed, didn't I?"

"Ah," said Jack with a fond smile, "agree you did. But I must say, Will." His fingers caught Will's face, and he brushed a thumb o'er his cheek. "Not always when one agrees to something does it mean that they want to do it."

That much was true, indeed, but Will did want to do what it was the pirate intended. It wasn't that finding a mythical sword enticed his interest more than it was that he felt, somehow, he owed Jack. All that he had revealed to him meant much more than his stubborn declination to join the man on a perilous journey to a lost and most likely perilous island. He frowned. "It is the least I can do. You've done much for me despite the trouble I caused. What man would not want to return the favor?"

"You owe me nothing," Jack told him gently, releasing his hold upon him and turning back to the helm. "Besides," he said, putting on the air of indifference with a flick of his hand, "I'm not doing this for meself, you know."

Will raised a brow.

"Well, not really," said Jack with a glance at him, "your father was the one obsessed with the idea. Few fantasies that he had in that steady head of his, that lost island and the sword upon it were something of a light in the dark."

That much he'd not expected. He hadn't read any such thing in his father's journal but then the man had been a pirate and the story seemed of great importance, a sword containing the knowledge of all things being at stake and all. In his mind's eye Will saw the green speck of light on the horizon. He nodded. "I saw it."

"Saw what," asked Jack as finally he set the _Pearl_ in motion. Intent upon turning her in the right direction through the hidden channel, he only glanced at Will as it dawned on him. "The light."

When Jack had laid the plan before him, he'd mentioned that Neris had seen the light. Will had not asked what he'd meant, but deep in his heart he'd known it was the green beacon. Still, he was not sure what such really meant and so he only nodded. "Aye."

For a matter of moments they were quiet, Jack paying attention to the careful passage through the black rocks and Will gazing up through the rigging at the night sky above. As much as he wanted to tell the pirate of his encounter on the sand, Will did not know how to breach the subject without dissolving to tears—tears no doubt that would lead to the horror of running kohl. With a sigh he took from his pocket his father's pretty pipe and from the other the tobacco pouch. In the silence Will packed the pipe. It was not until he lit it, took a drag, and exhaled that he noticed Jack's gaze upon him.

In his eyes Will saw a hint of memory behind the dark wealth of curiosity and suspicion. Breathing in another puff, he offered the pipe up and watched as the pirate accepted and put the tip to his lips. Jack took a long, slow drag on the thing. His dark eyes honeyed so much that Will thought he had inhaled too deep a breath of smoke. But when those eyes fluttered shut and Jack only breathed out the smoke in a haze of white curling around them, Will knew he'd been wrong. He watched as the man looked down at the pipe, as Jack's thumb grazed the silver tip and passed over its shine before he handed it back to him. Will took it and as unable as he felt he was to look into those eyes again, he did.

Jack's gaze was steady, and his voice soft and without slur when he spoke. "What else did you see?"

The _Pearl_ slipped out from its secret under the dark oblivion of night, and in the silence of such a reverie Will took a reticent drag upon the pipe. When he exhaled, and as the pirates' cheers faded away much as the swirling smoke, he poured out the story to Jack Sparrow who listened to it with one hand guiding the wheel of his ship and the other lending strength to Will's trembling shoulder.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Neris watched Captain Jack Sparrow's beautiful _Black Pearl_ swell into view. She sat quietly on a craggy rock in the silence she'd laid upon the island with her spell. It was one she did not use much for those who succumbed its power were usually not so happy to learn of it later, but one that brought with it a peaceful serenity nonetheless. Without the thoughts of others swirling in her consciousness she was able to think clearly and without their influence. Without the weight of their burdens upon her shoulders she felt light as the feather of a ship she watched sail swiftly into the distance.

"A black swan," she said in the tongue of Jack's people sleeping around her, "soars toward the horizon waiting for it."

As her thoughts drifted, so did her gaze. It rested upon the fairer _Swan_. She smiled.

"And the fair swan will fly fast behind," she whispered, closing her eyes to enjoy the peace she would allow herself until it was time to rouse the others from their sleep. "So that I may keep my word to the sparrow."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Well then," said Jack after a heartening pause, "it's much comfort to know that my own visit was not the by product of a night well spent in the arms of fiery bliss or some sort of hallucinatory effect from whatever wicked drug possibly worked into me system by the nasty wench known as the Ice Queen."

Will looked at him. "The two of you not getting on so well?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Jack, "we get it on quite well if I might say so myself."

"I meant," said Will with a look of disgust at him, "your getting along—which has little to do with the sanctity of that which takes place in the boudoir."

"Who said anything about the boudoir," asked Jack with a frown. "Granted, we've had our fair share of rumpust rip-roaring rows in there, but I doubt the majority of the time in which we spend f—"

"Jack!"

"—ighting each other has much to do with me bedchamber, mate."

Will glowered at him. Jack couldn't hide the glint of his satisfied smile if he wanted to, and ordinarily Will would have sported with him on sight of that which meant he'd been played with, but he seemed to remember suddenly what Jack had said. "Your own visit?"

"Mmhm," murmured Jack as he handed over the helm to Roth. Much to his surprise he felt familiar warmth at his back and so turned around. There he faced Anamaria's smirk—and a self-satisfied smirk it was. His eyes narrowed at her, but he was much amused and so he smiled at her before leading Will Turner in a stroll along the ship. "Think I've lost a helmsman," he said as he leaned elbows on the rail. He glanced up at the two pirates at the helm just as Roth snuck a smooch and was reprimanded accordingly by a hand Jack knew was formidable in its own right. He winced, slaps of the past coming back to haunt him, but was surprised—and a bit perturbed, really—to see the woman's arms twine around the younger man's waist. "Twitterpated on me ship. What's next? Cotton's parrot finds a mate? This is the _Black Pearl_, you know," he told Will with a crinkle in his brow, "not the bloody _Love Boat_." His gaze swept out to the black of sea and he sighed. "Which is why I'm sending the both of them off in Tortuga, incidentally."

"Jack," said Will, "if you didn't send Ana off in Tortuga, she would have your head by the blade of your own sword."

"Most likely," said Jack, "but the lad's another story. Won't leave for fear of offending his illustrious captain. So I've to give him the proverbial boot." Catching Will's approving gaze, he frowned, fluttering a hand in the cool, night air. "For the sake of the _Pearl_ of course. She's a reputation to uphold and all."

"Of course," said Will, turning so as not to let Jack see the smile on his face. "So you were saying..."

"Aye, and I was saying it because it is true."

"Jack..."

With a sidelong glance at Will, Captain Jack Sparrow sighed. Leaning heavily on the rail he told the tale, dark eyes fixed upon the unending black horizon. When he'd finished he fell silent as Will. Grateful he was when the lad wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gathered him close, even though such only seemed to seep more tears—terrible things those for the mess they made of him—into his eyes. Desperate not to let the blasted droplets fall Jack was and so was glad to remember he'd something to complain about. A scowl he put on his face.

"That's not even the worst of it." He grimaced, doffed his hat, and dragged back the red scarf from his head. "Your dissolute Da rooted no less than three grey hairs in me head!"

Will leaned over, eyes narrowing upon the top of Jack's head. His brows rose. "I count five."

"Five?!" Jack's eyes widened as Turner touched each. "They're multiplying, Will. Multiplying!"

Will gave a short laugh. "It's a part of life, Jack."

"Unfortunately the part that reminds you of the inevitable end."

"What?" Will smiled. "An inevitable end? To Captain Jack Sparrow? Somehow I doubt that."

"How's that?"

"Surely you jest, Jack," said Will, brown eyes warm upon him. "It's impossible to lay expectation upon you. Inevitability has no meaning to a man who refuses to let the inevitable catch hold of him."

"Well," said Jack with a bit of a grin, "there is that."

Together they looked out over the rail of the ship towards the horizon where green flashed back at them. At first it was beautiful, that solitary green luminary against the black void that was the night. But as they gazed at it, it glowed brighter as if on fire with emerald envy and Captain Jack Sparrow, for all his refusal to shiver his timbers to anything, could not help but feel wary of it. Eyes switching to Will, who was much entranced, he noted that they were lit silver by the light of the moonbeams and hoped that wherever they be, the sisters three were weaving blessings and not their inevitable ends.

"Jack?" Will seemed not to notice the suspicious look on his face—but then Jack had quickly masked it 'fore he could notice of course—and treated the pirate to a smirk. "How far have we to get to Antolune?"

Jack shrugged. He glanced over his shoulder where surely Neris, wise woman that she was, was watching over those needing it. But the _Pearl _had made quick as a whip out to sea and so the flickering fires upon L'Ile de la Perle Noire were beacons smaller even than the foreign green. "Far enough."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_**Author's Babble:** Neris' Spell… It's all taken from Greek and perverted quite a bit because when it comes to grammar and foreign languages... Blacklabel gets confused. Less of course she makes it up. Lethe is oblivion I do believe (so 'lethei' would be something like 'to oblivion with you all' and 'letheseis' sort of 'to oblivion all your') and somnos is dreamstate sleep. Hypnos is deep sleep. Oro is gold, here 'golden'. Kalinihta is 'goodnight'._


	30. Of the Essence

Sunlight's warmth crept o'er Samson's face and twitched him awake. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. They narrowed upon opening to find nearby a waking Jack Turner, fish upon a stick still clutched in the boy's hand, amidst several darker lads also at that moment rising from their slumber. Bootstrap's grandson's eyes narrowed as well as the golden orb shining high above flashed in them. Samson looked up at the sky and again at the boy and then followed his gaze across the sand to where Mrs. Turner was stretching awake. Lithe as a cat she sat up and blinked awake. Samson followed her gaze toward the water's edge where waking was the group of little girls. With a wide yawn, Little Lucy stood on her short legs and bounded to her brother, throwing her arms around his neck and bowling him over into the sand. Laughing, she left him griping there and ran to her mother who grabbed her up and held her tight as her narrow gaze flicked the shore.

Samson's followed.

Those lying in the sand and upon rocks and docks were all waking as well. Intuit men and women rose quickly on their feet and glanced about at each other, eyes locking in silent conversation. Two priests woke back to back. They rose to their feet and whirled in their silk robes. Glare at each other they did. Fast their narrow gaze switched toward a big black rock where sat perched in sleep a serene-faced priestess.

Below her Isaac Faust was awake. Elbows propping him in the sand, he gazed with wary, wide eyes back at all who seemed focused upon him. The sandy gent frowned. His eyes rolled up to find Neris. In that moment the Witter woman woke. All eyes fell upon her as she sat straight up in the sand and let loose a sharp shriek of a scream.

Samson winced with everyone else.

Neris woke with a start. Off the rock she tumbled head over feet. In Isaac's lap she landed with a thump but shot immediately to her feet, well aware that all were advancing upon her. Surrounded, she turned in the circle as if to find a way out. Finding none, she flashed a pretty smile at each of the angry faces glaring at her.

"What," growled Alice Witter with the ferocity of a territorial lioness, "did you do?"

"I can explain, Sweet Queen."

"You bloody well better!"

But Elizabeth Turner was not going to wait for the explanation, they learned. Baring the teeth of a tigress she pushed Alice—who was stilled in her sudden rage by the strong but struggling arms of Isaac Faust—out of her way and advanced on Neris until they were nose to nose. "Where," she grit out, eyes flashing gold in anger, "is my husband?"

"Where do you think," hissed Alice, finally breaking free of Isaac to shoulder the younger Mrs. Turner away from the prey she'd stalked first. Her icy eyes narrowed on Neris. "But with that fatuous fool of a man? That _innocuous_ imbecile! That senseless _son_ of a _**gun**_—that half-baked, harebrained, ill-considered, _crazy cockamamie cuckoo_!?"

"Well," sniffed Elizabeth Turner, "he is _your_ cuckoo."

Samson's eyes widened as he chuckled.

"You," Alice spat, "you big brute, were probably in on it!"

"Nae, woman," he said, shaking his head but unable to keep from the chuckles that rumbled his belly, "jest sounded a good description of our Sparrow, it did."

"What's Jack done this time?"

All eyes turned toward Isaac Faust and switched to whom his question had been aimed at. Neris sighed, much aggrieved at so much chaos whirling in her head and around them, and picked up the little boy who seemed the only one to not harbor resentment or suspicion. On her hip she sat him and turned unwavering eyes upon the young man that was, in all the ways that count, Sparrow's son.

"The chief," Neris told him in the proper tongue, "has flown off on the wings of his black swan." Sensing suspicion before she saw their eyes narrow, she held up a hand. "But that does not mean that we can not fly fast to follow him." In silence she told them she knew the way and then pointed beyond the cluster of them to the fair ship floating in the water. When their gazes again fell narrow upon her, a small smile lit her lips. "Savvy?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Antolune.

"Pretty little name for a lost island," Jack mused in a mumble.

Moonflower. At least that's what he figured it meant. Neris hadn't bothered to Anglicize and he'd not bothered to ask her to. It was somehow more an adventure that way, he thought. Besides, if he were being completely honest with himself... He frowned, wondering when the last time he'd been honest with himself was. With a shrug he let the thought flutter away in favor of thinking upon the conversation they'd had.

_Jack ignored the narrow looks given him by the three priests as he took a seat in that which he knew belonged to Neris. A throne it was and one he'd had made for her. Special order in fact. The frame of the throne was cast from pure copper metal and embellished with many smooth orbs of amethyst, moonstone, and selenite which by all means was much lovelier than even the diamonds he'd had set in his own throne. His was further decorated with swirls of black pearl but he'd made certain hers were the purer sort of pearl. Fingers slipping o'er the smooth Mother of Pearl, he raised a brow at the little boy who was promptly set on his knee. _

Such seemed contemptible to the sacred men who watched with mouths heavy laden with disapproval. Neris swept past, casting a wry smile of a glance at them o'er her shoulder as she went to the gilt tabernacle in the corner. Open it she did and from it withdrew two tiny lidded pots and a tied leather pack.

"No mérimna," she breathed to the three men. Her dark eyes, heavy-lidded under the kohl, glowed as her gaze fell upon the boy gazing up with wide- eyes at the dubious pirate. "Asfalistei."

Jack sighed. For a reason he could not discern those three Intuits had never seemed to much appreciate his presence. Granted the rest of the sect had made him their chief—democratic details of such unimportant of course—but even that had not seemed to sway the approval of the holy men in his favor. So it was that Jack was accustomed to their suspicious glances, stares, and glares. He nodded at the priests and laid a hand on the top of the lad's head, smirking as the boy beamed. "Aye, he's safe."

"Hmm," grunted the prettiest priest.

The priestess, sensing Jack's immediate dismay, shot the pirate a warning by way of mind and turned to glare at those of her own. "Asfalistei," she repeated.

To such there was no argument. The priests looked on in silence as upon her stone tablet she set the pots. Unlidded they revealed fine powder and crystal—the first which she called essence and the second which was clearly salt of the sea. With a flick of her wrist she sprinkled the salt in a line. Two later and there upon the table was marked a triangle. In the center of this she set the second pot and closed her eyes. Atop the pile of purple flickered to life a flame. It warmed the room and cast a glow about the woman's face as she untied the leather pack. Silver leaves and tiny orbs she took from it. In a circle she placed them around the triangle and so bowed her head to utter a quick incantation.

Jack followed suit, as did the priests though he could not bear to close his eyes as such never failed to fascinate him. From Intuit to Intuit he looked. Eyes closed, they did not notice. If they knew he did not join them in the sanctity of prayer they had never let on that they did. Glance down at the boy in his lap he did and so discovered with a start that the little one was smirking up at him.

For a moment the boy's eyes narrowed much as Jack's as they stared at each other. But he did not glare as so often did the priests. Silently his small voice said, No mérimna, i na veritos. _Don't worry, I won't tell. _

Jack smiled and ruffled his dark, silky hair.

Having concluded their prayer, the four Intuits opened their eyes and Neris turned to face the throne. With the glow of the flame around her and hands pressed together she looked much an exotic apparition and Jack couldn't help but admire her beauty. Oh but the sacred woman was lovely with her black hair twisted to crown her head. How pretty her complexion of spice against the pale silk of the robes that clung to her round hips and fell in droughts to fishtail about her sandaled feet. And those beautiful, black eyes narrow upon him—Jack frowned.

"Your concentration," she told him, "is ill placed."

"Sorry."

"Hmm," she murmured, full upper lip twitching as she turned her palms out and up. Mouth open and eyes closed once more, her face eased. When it and all was still, she flexed her fingers. To her palms they bent. "Antolune."

Jack leant forward, tilting his head a bit to listen.

"It is the lost." Neris breathed deep through her nose and exhaled her next words. "Essence beckons. I heard it then and I hear it now and it shows to me visions I can not ignore." Her black eyes opened to meet his. "Nor can you."

"I suppose it's too late to hope they're pleasant visions?"

Neris smiled. "They are fate dealt from the sisters' hands and woven much as the lost is with the crescent's threads. There is forever hope in both."

So usually it was Jack doing the talking and weaving of words so as not to tell the whole story and so he sensed quickly that he was now the one trying to follow the thread of the tale. It spun around him too much to grasp and so he frowned. "The crescent's threads?"

"An arc of mountaintops, once afire, rose over the sea. When lost was their light so lost was Antolune," Neris said. She stepped forward to lay a hand upon his. "There is forever hope, but no light there to see it."

Jack sighed. He wanted to believe, really he did. His doubt was what spurred him on most of the time afterall and so he pursed his lips so as not to give voice to the naysayer in his head. It was then he remembered the beacon and so opened his mouth to enquire as to its part in the proceedings.

"It is time," Neris said 'fore he could question it. She sighed softly. "That is why it's showed itself, Jack. Time is of the essence."

"And what is the essence?"

Neris smiled. "The sublime. It shall guide you to that which is lost, lighting the way for you and yours. But it will be lost as the light it replaces when step foot upon Antolune you do."

"How encouraging," he drawled, "to know we're to be left in the dark."

"But you're not to be left in the dark," she said, earning a frown of what was more confusion than contemplation but a mixture of both with a bit of dismay added nonetheless. Thread her fingers with his she did. "Illumination shall stay with you even though its source be lost."

Jack's eyes narrowed as he gazed back at her. For a matter of moments he was silent as she and the boy, the whispering of the priests being the only sound therein. "Of what is the essence essence?"

"The sublime—"

"Yes," he interrupted, smiling a bit as he flicked a finger in the air as if to hold her tongue, "you said that. But it seems to me that such is much too general to put faith in." Jack let his head lean back against the throne and gazed up into Neris' eyes under the heavy lids of his own. "Sublime is a pretty word, Neris, but it is one mistaken by most to mean only that which is divine and not which is hidden from our eyes because it is much too ghastly to see. I don't mean to make that mistake if I'm to let this essence be my guide. I'm very particular about who plots me chart, savvy?"

Neris nodded. "I understand, Jack."

"Good."

"The essence of which we've spoken," she said, "is one to be trusted, and particular to you it seems." Her smile faded to a bit of a frown. "Though there is to be trouble, it shall not be of the essence. You must heed what I am to say to you, Jack."

Jack raised his brows. Near ready to remark that he'd not heed anyone save himself, he saw the anger flash across her face and was so stalled. When it was he felt the warning she sent, he frowned and shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "Alright."

"Do not venture without the flowers of fate. Do not allow yourself to be strangled by a fate which is not your own." Neris took his hand in both of hers then and breathed deep as if she would not breathe again. "Above all, do not mistake another essence for that which guides you. Know in your heart the true essence of your faith and do not let the confusion of chaos sway it."

"Faith," he breathed. A crash below, no doubt from the feline captives that had taken every opportunity to wreak havoc upon his private sanctuary, jolted him from his reverie. With a roll of his eyes, he snorted. "Me arse!"

If he were being completely honest with himself, Jack would have to say he'd not put much faith in the tale that had so struck Bootstrap. Truly he did not think that they would wander onto a "lost" island, tramp through the wilderness—a frightening facet of the plan, to be sure—and come upon a mythical magical and wholly magnificent sword that would bring to its bearer all knowledge of all things. Unencompassable knowledge yet.

"Bleedin' hogwash!"

"Haven't done that for a spot, Cap'n," said Gibbs.

But when, Jack wondered, had Gibbs shown up? Clapping a hand firmly upon his bottle of rum, he whirled in his seat. Dizzy, he wondered how it was he was suddenly arse upon the planken floor and narrowed his eyes at the bottle that was supposed to have held him steady. With a frown he realized it was not where it had been. But where was it? Where was the bottle of rum that was his very rock upon which he based his—oh, he thought with a twitch of annoyance, there she be. Smooth glass still clutched in his hand, he lifted it to his lips and tipped back his head to drink.

"Be a good idea to let up a bit, Jack."

Bloody Gibbs, where was he Jack wondered. The thought he did not have time to ponder as suddenly he felt meaty hands haul him up from behind to put him back on his feet. Staggering—but only a little—he turned to face the sailor and raised a brow at him. "Let up a bit? This early?"

"Only been out less than a day, sir. Keep it up and I guarantee yer bum'll be black an' blue faster 'an ye can say Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peppers."

"Why's Peter Piper pickin a peck of pickled peppers," said Jack, "if peckish his pipes be? Poppycock, those pickled peppers and peculiar a pansy is he. Peck Peter with a picky porcupine and pack up pickled peppers to pay the piper." Pleased with himself, Jack flashed a grin at a dazed Gibbs. "So, what was it?

"What was what?"

"Me time!"

"Lost count."

"You _always_ lose count," Jack complained.

"Aye, and a right shame it is," Gibbs agreed. "Think we're to find anything upon this island we're off to?"

Jack considered spinning a story for the sailor but he knew that in his current condition he was likely to twine yarns that frayed something terrible. Work it'd be to keep the weave straight and so he only shrugged. "God only knows."

After Gibbs had gone off to show Toddle and Lemmy a thing or two about the proper filling of the _Pearl'_s dark sails, Jack somehow found himself sitting at his desk. There he sat staring at the chart he'd marked. A long stem of black ink he'd swept across blue waters and down where arced a cluster of islands around it. A swirl he'd finished with.

Antolune.

That was where it would be—somewhere in that swirl. Somewhere in that crescent of islands would lie the moonflower. Upon her shores and through the deep, dark jungle they would tread as Will wielded the flowers of fate. Perhaps, if Peter truly paid the Piper to play a song for the three sisters, they would find, lying in secret, a powerful sword. Perhaps they would find a glittering blade of emerald ice topped with a golden handle topped with a glowing orb of infinite wisdom.

"But," Jack said to himself, "I doubt it."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"You must be joking," Alice Witter decided.

Neris had told them the tale. She'd told them of Ahku Neko Neko Khar and of his all encompassing knowledge of all things. She'd told them of Tetetuzu and the imminent battle the One Great Great God had known he would lose. She'd told them about the sword and the winged messengers and the lost island.

"No," the priestess said firmly. "I do not jest."

Certainly Jack had gone after many things that had seemed unreachable, no, nigh unreal. There'd been several times he'd given chase to several separate elixirs said to contain the key to immortality. There'd been at least twice that he'd gone off in search of treasure sunk to the haunted sea. There'd been the once that he'd sought a gem said to contain the life force of all the conscious world. But never had Alice Witter heard such nonsense fall from the pirate's lips and though he was nonsensical enough to imagine such might be so, she could not wholly believe that Neris were telling the truth and that Captain Jack Sparrow was putting stock in a myth in which there was a wrathful god called—

"Tetetuzu," she grumbled, crossing her arms. "Sounds like a bloody ballet!"

"Do not mock the powers that be!"

Ignoring Neris' sharp command, Elizabeth stepped forward. To the woman's credit she did not shove Alice out of the way. The dark look she shot at her, though, did suffice. "You said that Jack was waiting for a sign." When Neris did not respond, Mrs. Turner folded her own arms. "Did he get one?"

"Yes," said Neris. "He would not proceed otherwise."

"What was it?"

"A green beacon beckoning."

"I suppose you mean to tell us," said Elizabeth, "that it is the essence of the glittering blade of emerald ice?"

"No," said Neris, smiling gently. "It is essence, yes, but of a sword? No, Missus Turner. It is essence of the sublime."

"Divine intervention," Alice put in, throwing up her hands. She shook her head. "Just what Jack needs!"

"Well you're right about that," Elizabeth snipped.

"Seemsbetwixt y'two we could use some o'that, us-selves!"

Isaac nodded at Samson. He ignored the look of outrage on Alice's face and turned instead to Neris. "A beacon," he said, smiling nicely at the priestess, "is a guiding light, is it not?"

"Ah," said Neris with a smile that matched his, "you are every bit his son, are you not? Yes. A beacon, young Captain, is a guiding light."

"Then tell us," said Alice, glancing between the flush-faced Isaac and heavy-lidded Neris, "whereto it shall guide."

"So that we may be off," Elizabeth added. She shot a withering look at Alice, who mouthed an appropriate response, and then at Samson who looked appropriately offended as he'd obviously not considered that she'd considered he'd not considered her feelings in some manner. "Without delay."

They'd gathered necessary provisions and stowed them aboard the _Swan_. Indeed they had stood upon the bonny ship as Neris recounted the tale. Those that had been left behind still stood around her. The high priests, save one to care for the little boy, had agreed to venture out with them. So it was that they stood there as calmly as they always were ashore though the two Turner children were romping circles around them, Jack chasing a giggling Little Lucy with the croquet mallet that Will had previously seized.

"Perhaps," Alice said to Elizabeth, "you should watch after your children."

"I shall consider your suggestion," Elizabeth said, "when you bear two of your own."

To this there was no argument. For a moment Elizabeth seemed thrilled with her victory, but when Alice Witter's eyes sparkled in a way that did not rely upon the glint of the sun she held her breath wondering if she had said something that should not have been said. A bit relieved Elizabeth was when the other woman blinked and fixed her with an icy glare. Comforted by such as she was, she did not rest completely for she saw the all-seeing Neris soften and lay her dark hand on that which was dainty, pale, and fisted.

"They are only making merry," Isaac said, breaking the silence as he wrapped an arm around the woman who was so small in front of him. "Entertaining themselves whilst we figure where it is we're going. Neris?"

For several silent moments the priestess regarded each of them. First she looked to the woman she had only just played quiet counsel to. Alice Witter's grey eyes were at first cloudy but they cleared to fix upon her. In that gaze, and in the gaze of all the rest of them, she found grim determination and unbreakable spirit that even the pirate they were going to go after would have to appreciate.

"Antolune," she said. "The moonflower woven with the crescent's threads of light. It lies east and south in wait."

"So," said Samson, "what's it waitin' for?"

"That which is brought by the green. That which will make it bloom." Neris smiled. "It waits to blossom."

There was a quiet moment aboard the ship as all considered that which Neris had said. Isaac Faust frowned, Samson's green eyes rolled up to study the sky as if it held more answers, and the two priests glanced at each other. Alice and Elizabeth stood with arms folded, both glaring at the priestess. The children, whom were not being watched well afterall, hurtled through the gathered group, Little Lucy having obviously procured the mallet. Jack chuckled gleefully as he darted around Samson's ankle. The big man, lost in thought, did not notice. Little Lucy, however, was gaining on her brother. Fast enough she flew 'tween the man's boots that a strange breeze rustled his breeches. He frowned down. Not quick enough he was and so only saw a streak of pink ribbon. The giggle that sounded somewhere behind his backside raised his brows but he ignored it otherwise, instead pushing aside a stray lock of sunlit reddish hair to fix his gaze upon the slight, exotic woman before him.

"Who's t'claim rank?"

"It is my husband's ship," Elizabeth said, lifting her chin, "so he is her captain and I the first mate. In his absence I should think rank falls in my hands."

"Yours?" Alice sneered. "Well, you do sleep much as Jack does, I'll give you that."

"And I'll give you—"

"Captaincy? Thank you. Afterall I am the most qualified person standing here."

"Most qualified?" Elizabeth arched a brow at the woman's frilly gown. "For what? Tea with the King?"

Alice grit her teeth. To her bosom went her hand and fast fingers drew out something gilt and lovely. With a flick it sprang open to reveal a deadly blade that gleamed in the sunlight. Elizabeth glared at her and just as fast found at her hip the dagger Will had gifted her with upon their second voyage with Jack Sparrow. It was a graceful piece and she wielded it well, brown eyes afire as she hefted its sparkling silver blade in the air. Not to be outdone, Alice's other hand shot to her thigh where in the ruffles it disappeared. A flash of gold and brilliant white later and Elizabeth Turner was staring down the blade of a deadlier dagger fancy as the gown it had been concealed by.

"The King drinks whiskey and wine," Alice Witter said, lifting her own chin, "as do I. But that is not the only thing that the King and I have in common, Missus Turner." Icy eyes narrowed upon a dubious Elizabeth. "We're both ace at keeping the order. Something," she said, inclining her head toward the two shrieking children behind her, "_you_ don't seem to have a handle on, if you don't mind me saying so."

Elizabeth gripped the slighter woman's grip on the deadly dagger and dragged her forward, baring her teeth. "I _do_ mind."

"Ladies," said Isaac, wrangling Alice out of Elizabeth's grip and stepping between them to treat each to a charming smile, "let us not forget that it is not we but our frustrations that are the source of our anger. The both of you get on quite well under normal circumstances and my heart is torn to see anything to the contrary. It is because of that that I must say... I believe I've a solution to this dispute of yours." Satisfied with their silence as well as their narrow gaze upon him, which he fought against with a charminger smile that was most likely his charmingest, he flourished the tricorn hat he'd brought from his sleeping quarters and plopped it on his head. "I call rank."

Having watched all of this, as well as the subsequent effects of such, Samson stepped forward and took the wide-eyed young gent by the lapels of his white shirt. Lift him from the oncoming wrath of the women he did and so set him behind himself. Turn round to face the rest of them Samson did with a scowl.

"I," the big man said, thumping a sizable fist o'er his heart, "Sam Samson, am _naet_ about t'sail under command of a runtish redcoat! _Naer_ will I take me orders from a woman who ain't me wife!" His green eyes glowered at the two women, the scar upon his face twitching as his jaw did. At Neris he nodded. "If anyone's t'sail this ship, this lit'l beauty of a seabird belongin to Will Turner, it'll be _me_."

To this there was no argument. Both defeated, Elizabeth and Alice regarded each other with hostility and suspicion. Isaac Faust sighed and patted his tricorn hat lovingly, and the two Intuit priests raised hands to their foreheads to salute Captain Sam Samson. Neris smiled a great beaming grin and cocked her head at the new leader.

"What are we waiting for, Captain?"

It was only a mite later, after the _Swan_'s sails had swelled and carried her swiftly to sea on whispering wings that Elizabeth reappeared on deck. In the captain's quarters she'd sequestered her children. They were involved in a quiet game of checkers and so she left them to it. On her mind it was to find out how far they'd sailed. On the horizon astern she narrowed her eyes. There was naught but a speck and so she turned to look up at a proud Samson.

"Fast she is."

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed. "I think she is nigh fast as the _Pearl_."

"And yet that is too slow to catch up!"

The voice was not a booming brogue, though, and so Elizabeth turned to face whose sharp tongue had cut in. Alice Witter stood beside her in clothes more fitting a sail of the sea. Gone was the fancy dress and in its place soft blue breeches and a loose muslin shirt much like that Elizabeth had changed into. The thick fishtail braid her white curls made was like to her own as well. Such was enough to remind Elizabeth that Isaac had been right and that she got on well enough with the woman she'd taken frustration out on.

"Unfortunately," she agreed as she fell into step beside her. In the shadow of the shrouds she sat on a crate as the other woman did and took her own dagger from its sheath. Flaying fish was not her specialty but it was something to do and something of a necessity if any of them wanted to fill their bellies. She wrinkled her nose as the reddish brown muck of guts fell upon the sack laid on the deck. After a bit of the silence between them, and much nose wrinkling besides, Elizabeth stole a glance at her lip-bit companion and felt the weight of her previous words. "That which was said earlier—"

"Was not my place to say," Alice said, swiftly flaying a fish with a silver dagger Elizabeth hadn't seen before. "Your children are a matter which is not of my concern. I apologize."

"Thank you, but I—"

Alice sighed, drawing the skeleton of a fish out and slapping its flesh in the bucket. "Let us forget it, Elizabeth. There's as much sense dwelling upon it as there is in Jack Sparrow's head." With that she lopped off a silver-scaled fish's head, tossed it overboard, and wriggled the body 'tween finger and thumb. "None, as it were."

Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh. She shook her head and went about the flaying and the nose wrinkling. But the woman's words had sparked her fears. Dropping her last fish in the bucket, she dipped her blade in the bowl of water, wiped it with a cloth, and turned it over in her hands watching the other woman do the same. "I do hope that at the moment he's more sense in his head than we think."

"As do I." Alice arched a brow. "What high hopes we have, mm?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_**Author's Babble: **This time, when Jack is reflecting... the priests are worried about the boy being so close to the pirate and so Neris says "No mérimna". She means "Don't worry." (Mérimna really is Greek for 'worry'.) When she says "Asfalistei" she means "He is safe". (Asfalis really means 'safe' in Greek.) The boy says to Jack "No mérimna, i na veritos" and he means "Don't worry, I won't tell (that you're not praying with them)". (This would sound like ee nah vare-eetus- i na just sounded nice and veritos, well I suppose I got that more from Spanish than anything. Verdad is 'truth' and I thought 'veritos' would stand in well for 'tell them true'.) Really more a fan of making the words sound lovely and connotate unconscious meaning using roots and archaic bits to fill in and call to mind the things we keep hidden in our heads..._


	31. A Good Guide

"Dark night."

Jack shrugged, but inwardly wondered at just how dark it was. By the heavens, if it were that he were not feeling, despite his doubts, tremors of trepidation, he'd marvel at their surroundings, for he'd not ever once sailed through a night as dark as was that around them. The moon had disappeared—perhaps behind a cloud or perhaps not—and there were no stars to gaze upon. All was black to the eye. What was sky and sea there was no telling—no hints of indigo wash or silver foam at all. Both were as thick as velvet and went on forever in an endless veil of darkness.

The crew of the _Black Pearl_ had all marveled at it. Some had shaken—of course, Shakes shook of his own will and so the tick certainly could not be marked by Jack as fear—some had shivered their timbers, and Cotton's parrot had taken to the crow's nest in apparent distress as above he squawked near all the worries Jack had assumed no one had once heard him mutter. Gibbs had seemed less than pleased with the whatsabouts, remarking several times how being able to see nothing could certainly be considered bad luck, and by the twisted look upon Will Turner's face—which Jack had to squint till his eyes were but slits to see—Bootstrap's son seemed to agree with the sailor.

"Nothing to worry about."

Below he heard quite distinctly the low hiss of Anamaria's voice. In no uncertain terms she declared the captain incapable of such position for all his mental inadequacies. But, of course, such malice from her mouth was not completely unusual and so Jack only glared quickly at the darkness from where he was sure the hiss had sounded.

"Are you so certain, Jack?" Turner laid a hand o'er his lazing on the rudder's spoke and commanded his gaze up as unseeing as it was. "How can you know? There is only darkness here. We cannot see anything. For all you know..." Will faltered, his own gaze falling away briefly only to return staunch and serious upon the pirate, no doubt. "For all you know we could be headed right for rocks."

"Well," Jack said succinctly, fumbling for and tying a halyard around the spoke and folding his arms o'er his chest, "we're not." His gaze narrowed upon the shadow of the man before him who had suddenly and without warning turned into his well meaning and innocent yet insulting father. "Because for all you know..." He trailed off, suddenly remembering that he'd a lantern with which to see and so hoisted it up. "You seem not to know what all I know."

Will's brow crinkled and eased. He folded his own arms and jutted out his chin. "Enlighten me then."

"First of all," said Jack, raising his own chin so as not to allow Will any more height than he aboard his own ship, "let's think sensibly, son." Ignoring the skeptical look on Will's face, he went on. "Beings that I love me precious _Pearl_ much as you know me to, do you honestly think I would be as foolish to knowingly put her hallowed hull in harm's way?"

"Jack, " Will said, skepticism stretching his face, "you're a pirate. You often knowingly put the _Pearl_ in harm's way."

Quite annoyed by such an insinuation, Jack rolled his eyes. "You must have forgotten, Will." He flicked his brows at the younger man and smiled a bit. "Harm doesn't come her way when it's Captain Jack Sparrow who's behind her helm." Though Will did not look entirely convinced, Jack decided that even the smallest bit of doubt meant he did not have to further defend his self and so moved on to the next point he had to make. "Second of all, I don't need to _see_ to know I'm where I need to be. I've a map marked and a compass to follow and before you mention its being broken I should remind you of all the places its got us in the past."

"In trouble," Will said, lifting his chin higher.

Jack followed suit, narrowing his eyes a bit. "And out of it."

Will's brow arched.

So did Jack's.

"Anything else?"

"Why as a matter of fact," said Jack, stepping forward and grabbing Will's arm to whirl him fore, "there is one thing. For you see we can see one thing, and that, Will Turner, is the light guiding us to where it is we're going."

Indeed, upon the horizon flickered the same green beacon that had been beckoning since before they'd started out. Both men gazed at it in wonder for a moment. Will's eyes grew wide with it but Jack's narrowed. It had been higher in the sky but seemed to have dipped low. Then it was that his own eyes widened at the sight—no, the _thought_.

"It's sunk."

Will turned to question him but he was already down the steps and knocking aside the curtain to stride purposefully to that which he considered his office. Once there he hurried to the desk where lay his map rolled just so. His usually gentle way with something so precious to him was cast aside. The scroll he slapped out flat to glare at it and its markings he'd made sure as was possible. That Will had hurried after him and was hovering he knew and so turned gleaming eyes up at him.

"Antolune is lost," he said, trailing a fingertip along the swirl of ink that could have been, by all rights, a sucking whirlpool, "because it is sunk."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Do you think they found it?"

Neris turned toward Elizabeth Turner, who had only just settled her children into bed with the help of Isaac Faust's tale telling, and arched a brow. That the young woman did not truly believe she knew things before anyone else she knew. It did not bother her. In fact, it was slightly refreshing to the priestess. When those knew that one knew things no one else knew, they saw them in light that did not illuminate for the better. Still, it was a bit amusing when questions were asked without belief that there would be an answer when there was.

"I know that they did not."

Elizabeth pursed her lips in thought and turned quick eyes toward her. There was in her a new question budding but she took her time in asking it, first wringing her hands. When her mouth opened she was cut off.

"You need not ask," Neris told her in a voice as gentle as she took the hand of Will Turner's wife. "The man of your heart is safe. Even in darkness he will be protected. I would not allow otherwise."

"Please," said Elizabeth quietly, taking back her hand, "do not think you can deceive me. Even if you are of high intuition as the stories say... there must be things that you can not see nor hear—things beyond your control."

"Yes," she agreed with a quick nod. "There are." Her lips turned up in a small smile. "But not many."

Elizabeth cast a dubious look in her direction.

"So you see it's no wonder she and Jack get on so well."

Both women turned to look at the third walking toward them. Alice Witter flashed the smallest of smiles. It was gone as quick as it had appeared, however, and in its place a cool, calm that Elizabeth could not muster despite how many assurances the Intuit priestess gave.

"Aye," butted a burly brogue from the helm behind them, "and i' ain't th'only reason besides!"

All three women turned to eye Captain Sam Samson—Elizabeth curiously, Alice Witter angrily, and Neris in dismay. The other two turned narrow eyes—of both previously mentioned persuasions respectively—upon her. In her head whirled both the scandal and jealousy of both women, respectively, and so Neris fought the flush that quite rose in her face for both having not had the foresight of such nor its reason and for that which echoed loudly in her head.

"_What_," asked Elizabeth, "could he possibly mean by that?"

"I should like to hear it myself," Alice said sharply, nose pointing in the air. "If you wouldn't mind, Neris."

"Oh," growled Samson, slapping a hand on the wheel as he wished to slap both of them, "bloody women'll make trouble o' nothin meant for it! Ya best tell em, Neris, 'fore either the harpies hexplode!"

But Neris was having much difficulty in speaking for all the horrifying images spiked at her from the sweet queen's icy grips of sudden hatred, and all the lurid ones put in her head by Elizabeth's overactive imagination. Squeezing her eyes shut, and pressing her fingers to her temples to clear her head, she gasped. "No! No, nothing—" she broke off, the image of a half- imagined Jack Sparrow paddle in hand, leering suggestively at her too much to bear. "Missus Turner, please, for love of all that is sacred! You've a sickness and it is making me ill!"

"Oh!" Elizabeth's eyes widened and all thoughts ceased quickly. "I'm so very sorry Neris," she said, a small smile playing upon her lips as she glanced at the other woman turning a pale shade of livid. "Yes, I can't blame you... the thought of such a man in such a way is certainly enough to make _most_ women want to retch."

"How is it," asked Alice snidely, "that _your husband_ has managed to meander into our conversation?"

Neris sighed, knowing well what was coming and not liking it whatsoever. If she was not so certain of the tides turning on her instead of on the two themselves, she would have interfered. But she was and so she kept silent, shooting only a pained glance at their captain who simply muttered something unsavory and shook his head.

"My husband," sniffed Elizabeth, "is a charming, handsome man whose attentions any woman would vie for. I am happy to have been lucky enough to be the one he chose to dote upon." She lifted her chin. "But I suppose I can not blame you for not knowing what makes a wonderful husband. It isn't as if you have one."

"No," Alice seethed. "I don't."

"No," said Elizabeth, quite magnanimous in victory, "you don't."

Such was apparently too much for the other woman to bear. Not only did Neris feel Alice's deep hurt of the old wound that Elizabeth had sliced so easily open, but she felt also the sting of losing the battle that had caused it. Alice Witter grit her teeth. Struggle in her heart and mind she did and then decided quick as a flick of her wrist what to do. Quickly, she flicked her wrist up to foist her left hand at Elizabeth and arched a brow. "Yet."

"What?!"

Neris sighed and watched as Isaac Faust, who'd been sitting on a crate watching the entire exchange, jumped up and jolted forward to grab the hand on which a dainty diamond ring sparkled under the stars. The young man's eyes went wide as Elizabeth's as he inspected it. For a moment Neris saw the doubt in his mind and then the worry and the fear.

"Please tell me you have not promised yourself to a fool," he pleaded.

Alice lifted her chin. "Of course not."

"So," called Samson, "y'ain't marryin Jacky, then?"

Her brows pinched. Hissing, she whipped around to glare at him. "Keep your head at the helm or I'm taking it over, you big brute!"

"Woman," he growled, "if'n y'call me tha' again... I'll show y'brute! Brute strength!" With that, he slapped hard his tremendous thigh with his herculian hand. "_Righ' o'er me left knee_!"

Alice frowned, tilting her head a bit to consider the threat. "You say that as if it's a bad thing..."

Captain Sam Samson's green eyes widened a bit, and he gripped the wheel tighter. A chuckle rose from his belly and carried on the breeze to the rest of them. Doffing his tawny tricorn, he shook his head. "Woman..." A grin stretched his jagged scar and the moonlight shone upon his pearly whites. "Trust me when I tell y'I can make it one."

Alice lifted her brows but didn't comment, instead turning to Isaac who was studying the ring upon her finger much as was Elizabeth Turner. Will's wife seemed impressed, and Alice couldn't help but gloat a bit when she saw the woman eye the ring that had been so long on her own finger. It had been had been Will Turner's token in turn and was no thing to scoff at though indeed it was smaller of stone than that which Alice wore. The slighter woman smirked and withdrew her hand from the both of them that were gandering at it, throwing a look of warn at the too-wise Neris. "Enough of that," she said, pointedly narrowing her eyes at their gaping mouths. "You're fogging it up!"

But Isaac snatched her hand back and studied closer the setting of the ring. His brows rose and then fell and then rose again, a smile lifting his lips considerably to reveal his own gleaming grin. "It is from Jack."

"What?" Alice looked down in annoyance at the gem on her finger and then bit her lip, looking up at the gent so certain before her. Despite her irritation with such she lifted her chin as haughtily as was possible. "Perhaps."

"Have you not noticed?" Isaac chuckled, dropping her hand to take her face fondly in his palm. "The diamond is set in a wee compass rose that does not point north."

"I don't believe it," Elizabeth said, folding her arms and raising her brows at Alice. "It is more likely simply a token than a promise of any sort. We know Jack. He may love weddings but he's never been interested in one of his own."

Alice glared at her.

"Now," Isaac said with a smirk, "that's simply not true."

"Hmm." Smiling again, Alice did not look away from Elizabeth but inclined her head toward Isaac. "And how would you know, nip?"

"Because," he said, smirk broadening a bit, "you are not the only one to read that which he's written." Dropping his tone, blue eyes sparkling, he went on in confidence. "Man's a consummate sucker for the social. Got plans down to particulars for his own wedding." He fell silent for a moment, and his smile faltered a bit as he turned deftly to Alice. "But I must warn you, for his idea of a honeymoon seems a bit on the wild side."

Her eyes widened. "Oh?"

"Aye," said Isaac, brow crinkling with worry. "Mayhap even dangerous. I think he's in mind a bit of a flog. I read something about the merit of whips—"

"A'right," Samson called from the helm, "enough o'that! Women, get on. Laddy Faust, I need y't'take the helm for a mite. Y'know the way. If'n I wake up t'find the lot of ye still debating Jacky's amorous inclinations, there'll be no fishes for food. For any o'ye!"

As Isaac went dutifully to the helm, Neris breathed a sigh of relief. Though her worries were not eased for Alice's blatant lies, she could not be more thankful for the change in conversation she'd not foreseen. Glad she was that she'd not fully listened to that which had been in her head. Lean lighter against the rail of the _Swan_ she did, and smiled pleasantly at both Elizabeth and Alice who were eyeing each other almost curiously under the light of the moon.

"An' Neris," the Captain called, a smile in his voice, "jest cos y'ain't wrigglin now... don't y'think you're off th'hook."

The Intuit priestess sighed. "I really should listen more oft to my head." To her dismay, she saw the two women turn sharply toward her, but knew it well before they did for the horrors in their heads had quick returned. The suggestion of whips had clearly made an impact on Elizabeth Turner. She winced. "Or perhaps not."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

It seemed a long time had passed since the both of them, Will and himself, had stared at the map and Jack hid a frown as he realized neither of them were much talking. In fact, they'd been rather silent since he proclaimed what he was rather sure was the case of the lost island, if indeed there was one at all.

_Sunk_, he thought, tossing a weight upon the map to hold it down and taking his compass from the pocket of his coat. _Lost to the light_, he mused, pulling out one of his desk drawers to loot through its contents. A fancy silver instrument he procured amidst the many. It thumped on the table as the drawer he kicked shut and yanked the top open. He hesitated there, glancing at Will and biting hard upon his cheek as he considered just how, exactly, he could make him go away. Usually such was not difficult for him—aye, he'd sent Will Turner on many a wild goose chase before—but unfortunately, and fortunately in some other respects, and rather frustratingly, really, he felt after so much had been said between them that even the smallest bit of dishonesty was somehow, in some way, distinctly wrong.

But then his fingertips grazed metal wire and Jack decided that he'd never claimed to be distinctly right either. To Will he turned, fixing on his face the sternest look he could muster. "Get out there, Mister Turner," he said, grabbing up the telescope sitting on his desk and shoving it in Will's palm, "and find... T... Turull. Ovos."

"Turullovos?"

"Aye," he said, struggling much to keep the look upon his face as he was much reminded of 'turtle eggs' by that word which he'd made up, "that one."

"What," asked Will, "is Turullovos?"

"Constellation."

"But I do not even know what it looks like!"

"You don't know what it looks like?!" The smallest hint of red tinged Will's cheeks and Jack almost confessed for his own shame in making up that which he had but he held out, turning away instead. "Enlist Mister Gibbs. If any a man knows, it'll be him."

Will frowned but did not question the captain further. With a curt nod he walked away. Jack watched him, careful to keep upon his face the same look he'd conjured. When it was the younger man disappeared, he all but breathed a sigh of relief and snatched from the drawer that which had given him pause.

"You've made quite the liar out of me," he told the gilt, wireframe spectacles before slipping their ornate pinching mechanism on his nose. His lip quirked. "Not that that's anything less than usual, mind you."

Quickly he laid out the instrument in accordance with their course and squinted a bit to make absolutely certain that the line was straight to the center of the curve. Satisfied, he sat back and rubbed his hands together. With the left he reached for the dial atop the silver arm sticking up and with the right steadied the flat base. Ever so gently, with the slightest touch, he nudged the dial back and back and back until finally the silver needle pointed in line with that upon the map. Feeling even a bit weary of breathing, he pressed his lips shut and once more turned a dial, the other one, until the second needle lined up with the other line that had been marked.

He was set to read off the numbers when it was he heard the steady footsteps of Will Turner returning and so cussed, taking the pince-nez from their perch and foisting them with a clang into the drawer. Folding both hands sweetly under his chin, he lifted his brows at the frowning Turner framed in the door and cocked his head. "Find it?"

"I can not find Gibbs."

Jack sighed and forced his brows together. "Well look harder, lad!"

Will looked about to contest but then nodded and disappeared once more.

Muttering to himself about the inconvenience of having young friends aboard, Jack took the pince-nez from the drawer and plopped them unceremoniously on his nose. Lean over the instrument he did and saw the fine markings made cleaner by the lenses. It wasn't that he needed them—no of course not, Captain Jack Sparrow's sight was no less sharp than ever it had been—but they did afford an easier precision at a glance. Plucking up a quill, he dipped it in ink and quickly noted the numbers on a piece of parchment.

From his desk he drew another instrument, a round one much like a compass but with a gilt volvelle inside. Its many wheels, marked by small symbols composing all of that which lit the sky, were much as a moving chart—an astronomical compendium. Peering down at it, he nudged each wheel around till he was satisfied with its alignment. To his surprise the position removed all embossed symbols from view. Though certainly that reflected how dark and without luminary the night was, he'd expected to find at least one symbol upon the rings—to find an indication that the green beacon was indeed a guiding light.

His expectations, however, were quite squashed by the instrument. The indication from the astronomical compendium was that the green beacon was not this or that or the next one, but nothing. According to the alignment, the green beacon did not exist in the sky.

"So," he breathed, going back to his calculations and frowning at them, "if it doesn't exist... why, then, can we see it?"

"Jack!" Sometime during all the captain's fuss, Will Turner had once again stomped in. He frowned only slightly when Jack jumped, but his brow crinkled deeper when he noted the spectacles. Then his eyes narrowed and he folded his arms. "So that is why you sent me on a search for a constellation that does not exist?"

Oh but Jack was certainly grumbling inside at having been caught. He feigned ignorance though, furrowing his own brow. "But Turullovos _does_ exist." To save face, he pointedly adjusted his spectacles, so as to let Will know that they were not at all something to be hidden. "And we've a need to find it. It is _enormous. _You can't miss it!"

"Jack..."

The pirate sighed. "What?"

Will nodded at the porthole through which only darkness showed. "There is not a single star in the sky."

Jack bit hard on the inside of his cheek. Such an oversight it had been that he nearly laughed at himself but that would ne'er do well in front of Will Turner. Instead he forced surprise on his face. "Oh? I must've forgotten." He smiled sweetly. "Sorry about that, Mister Turner. Difficult thing to remember, honestly. There's much on me mind and not much of me mind to mind it with, savvy?"

Will arched a brow but did not comment. After a bit of watching Jack fiddle with the cartographic instruments, he crossed the space, set down the telescope, and settled himself on the side of the desk that was clear of clutter. "You know..."

Still smarting from having been found out, Jack uttered a grunt that he hoped conveyed he was not interested in small talk. He leaned back, considering the numbers he'd read off. They were not anything particular to him it seemed.

Apparently Will Turner still did not know how to take a hint, because he set sure about going on with whatever it was he was going to say. Clearly it was something Jack did not want to hear, for the younger man laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled fondly upon him. "At the forge, I've a pair of those myself..." His brown eyes were warm, as well. "For detailing."

As irritated as he was, Jack couldn't help but feel succinctly the twinge of regret for having tried to hide something so ridiculously stupid from the man looking down at him. He rolled his eyes and sighed and growled a bit. "Alright! Forget Tur... Turull..." Frustrated for having forgotten what he'd named the inexisting smatter of stars, Jack tsked. "Forget the bloody constellation! _Twelve, twenty-one, eighty-seven_. Does that ring a bell?"

Will's eyes widened. "Say again?"

"_Twelve_," said Jack slowly, "twenty-one. Eighty-seven."

"Why," demanded the younger man, suddenly defensive, "are you asking me this?"

For whatever reason, Jack was not certain that he wanted to reveal why, exactly, he was asking such a thing. It seemed right wrong that he'd suddenly suspected a bloody intersection of lines on a map to mean something other than the plot of a course and he felt quite foolish for it. Search for an acceptable excuse he did and finding none, simply raised his brows. "Because!"

"Twenty-first December, 1687..." Will's warm eyes flinched, and in them surged up a well of hurt as he leaned forward to meet Jack's gaze steady. "Twelve, twenty-one, eighty-seven... is the last date of the last entry in my father's journal."

His father's... Jack trailed off in his own head, leaning back out of discomfort for the tension ran taut between he and the man sitting on his desk. His gaze he averted, looking at that which laid out before him—all the things that he'd at one time taught William Turner to use and later trusted him with. Much as anyone said different, the truth was that he'd never been as trusting with a man as he'd been with Bootstrap. In William, he'd every bit of faith he lacked otherwise.

_I'm very particular about who plots me chart, savvy?  
_  
His words to Neris he remembered, and in a series of swift flashes of memory—_asking Neris if she'd seen the green, listening to her tell him that the essence of it was not one so harmful at all, and Will standing on the deck of the Pearl telling him that he had seen the thing when it was Bootstrap had made his visit_—clarity dawned on him. Foolish he felt for having not thought through to see the connection before. Glancing down at the compendium and the compass, he snatched the spectacles from his face and tossed them to the desktop with a sigh.

"If there's any one thing to say about your Da, lad, he ne'er gives up."

Will raised his brows.

Jack shook his head, clapping a hand on Will's knee. "Stubborn man."

"Jack," said Will, clearly not willing to guess what Jack was getting at, "spit it out!"

"Surely you read at least something about the way in which I taught your Da what I knew of navigation..."

"Yes."

"Mmmhm. And surely you read at least something, perhaps only a tiddle but still a bit, about his being the one I trusted to guide me ship." His brows flicked upwards. "To plot me charts well as I would've."

"Yes."

"Well," said Jack with a weary smile as he nodded toward the porthole where through shone the green light of the flickering beacon, "apparently, he's decided he's not all that ready to give it up."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Neris was really having a most difficult time keeping the sordid solicitude of Elizabeth's out of her head. It seemed nigh impossible. No matter how many others' thoughts and challenges ebbed through them, Mrs. Turner's very vivid visuals overtook all. In all their graphic glory they quite shamed the woman who'd previously thought she was unable to be scandalized.

"Missus Turner! _Please_!"

Elizabeth had the grace to flush red before clapping a hand to her head. "Sorry! I'm sorry, Neris, but it can not be helped! I can not seem to stop it and believe me I wish I could—"

"Need some help, then," Alice asked, eyes flashing dangerously. "I would be more than happy to be of assistance."

"Oh," Neris scowled, grabbing both their hands and drawing them closer, "the Captain spoke true! Enough of your nonsense, the both of you! There is much you have to learn about friendship. That is all that lies between Jack and I. He stumbled upon my people when we needed him. And thanks be to the sisters three that when I needed him he was there." There came to her a flash of something from Elizabeth that she did not like. "_Missus Turner_!"

"Oh," whispered Elizabeth, "I really wish it would stop..."

Shaking her head of the image, Neris did not comment but went on with what it was she'd intended to say. "I will not speak of what transpired to gain his aid. But it was enough to bind us, as certainly it should be enough to bind the two of you. Your men are friends, and so are you, but you would not know it because you are both too angry to see!"

Elizabeth and Alice eyed the woman closely. There was silence save for the ebb of waves lapping at the swift-sailing _Swan_. When it was that they both decided she was telling the truth, they relented. Elizabeth's shoulders drooped and Alice gave a soft sigh as together they watched Neris glide haughtily away.

"I hate it," said Alice quietly, "when she is right."

Elizabeth turned her head a bit, her honey brown eyes lighting golden with curiosity. "Is she _truly_ a seer?"

"Well," Alice said, folding her arms though a smile flashed upon her lips, "she certainly did see what was in your head, Elizabeth."

Missus Turner bit her lip, pressing a palm to her temple. "I sincerely wish it away, Miss Witter."

The other woman smiled, taking Elizabeth's hand in her own. "It's Alice," she said, leading her in a stroll toward the helm where stood a deliriously happy-faced Isaac, "and I was not jesting when I offered my assistance in the matter. I believe we should fill our heads with other images of Jack Sparrow." Her eyes narrowed a bit as she leaned conspiratorially toward Will Turner's wife. "Like his face when it is he finds out we're not very happy with this leaving us behind business."

Elizabeth scowled and nodded her emphatic assent. "And Will's face as well!"

"That's the spirit!" Alice smiled. "I _knew_ you had it in you!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack shuddered. Whether it was the foreboding he felt at the yet unyielding darkness or something else he was not certain but he was certain that whatever it was was not good. Not good at all, in any sense, or by any stretch of the imagination he felt. Perhaps Gibbs had been right and he should not have swilled so much of his beloved rum. To Will he turned and saw, unfortunately, the younger man's mouth twisted much as was his.

"Something," said Will haltingly, "is not right."

"Oh, just wonderful," Jack said, pinching hard the bridge of his nose as he sighed. "Splendid that it isn't only me. I was rather hoping it really was the rum."

Will's brow furrowed.

"Cap'n!"

Gibbs' voice, hoarse with having not slept and also the excitement of discovery, rang out o'er the buzz of the crew and turned Jack around. The pirate captain feigned disinterest, only inclining his head a tiny bit. His sailor took the steps two at a time and took Jack's arm, grasping and gasping for his breath. His pale blue eyes blinked and then he took a swig from his flask. Quickly he tucked it back away. A jagged smile broke across his face as he pointed out into the darkness.

"Figgered we're close."

Jack's eyes widened upon that which the sailor was pointing out. The beacon was there, low but brighter in its closeness. The thing was no longer so far as the horizon. No, it was close enough that Jack imagined the _Pearl_ would be upon it in no time and so with one eye trained on the luminary, he turned his head toward the men and shouted orders to take in some sail. When it was he was satisfied they had done so, he leaned on the rail and narrowed both eyes upon the now glowing green.

"If Antolune is sunk," said Will as stood staring much the same, "how shall we find anything?"

Jack bit his cheek, considering the question. When the _Pearl_ was nearly upon the now glittering beacon, he called down to his stunned men the order to anchor and turned to Will with a flick of his brows. "Fancy an evening dip, Mister Turner?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_**Author's Babble:** Captain Sparrow has quite a few little instruments to his name... for much a reason. There have been hints here and there but I'm afraid that this story shall not divulge that particular secret. The silver instrument is more than likely something he or someone else rather clever came up with—and it measures angles and such. The compass... well, I like to leave it a mystery much as the movie did, but I've my own ideas about it, have no doubt. _

The astronomical compendium was actually many instruments in one, most importantly the moving diagram called the volvelle. The volvelle was round, composed of rings that one can twitch, turn, or twist to the proper degree in order to find out what the sky should look like overhead. In short, making a map of the heavenly bodies above. Most had also a lunar volvelle that was in effect a chart of the tides as the moon does control them. Some other instruments that were commonly included in the spring-hinged box were compasses, sundials, miniature windvanes, and time conversion tables. Really they were very fine and are worth looking up on the net if only for appreciation for such an involved and thorough box of navigatory treasure. In all actuality I imagine that usually pirates would simply sell something like an astronomical compendium for a pretty piece of change... but then Captain Jack Sparrow isn't any sort of usual and I really rather imagine he'd never part with such a useful and fussy tool.

If you want to know more about these type of things, you might want to check out The Seaman's Secrets by John Davis. It is a very old book—1500s or 1600s I believe—but absolutely necessary if it's truly the pirate's life for you. Google it, and I guarantee you will find it in webtext format! Would post a link if I could, but you know how that goes... sometimes


	32. A Bad Guy

Feeling quite satisfied with herself, and with Elizabeth Turner, Alice Witter lay on the chaise in the captain's quarters, her grey gaze switching over the interior of the cozy space. Jack had most certainly seen to every detail—right down to the lovely family portrait that was now fastened to the wall—and she was particularly glad now for his insistence long ago to place a very plush, very posh chaise near the bookshelves. It was a very, very nice spot where to laze.

The only thing that would make her happier at that moment was the company of her two dear felines. She hoped for Captain Jack Sparrow's sake that he was seeing to their care, but moreso she hoped that he'd learned by now to pay them as much attention as was possible. Spoil them she had and spoiled so they were; and she couldn't help but worry a bit about what they might do if they were left to their devices for too long a time.

Not that it wouldn't be very much amusing to note his discovery of such a situation, Alice had to admit.

Far from them, and unable to keep either they or Jack out of trouble, she smiled and stretched on the velvet cushions. As it turned out, the ship Jack had seen built for the Turners had not only been well dressed, but also well built. It slipped smoothly through the waves, tilting only slightly with each. It was a steady ship, the _Swan_, and Alice wondered at it, thinking much of that which Jack had told her of Will Turner's father. Supposedly he'd been a steady man... save for his belief in the lost island and the lost sword and the gods with the ridiculous names.

As her gaze fell upon the parchment that was written in the man's hand, she rolled her eyes. Her gaze then fell upon the windows. Out them she looked—to the still and evermore darkening night around them—and sighed, aggrieved for having to put up with Jack's unending quest to make things right with a man who had left him behind.

Still she could not blame him. Afterall, the first thing she'd thought when hearing Neris out had been that it was Bootstrap Bill's essence guiding Jack to where might lie the lost island. It seemed a silly story to be sure, but stranger things had happened to the pirate she was secretly so fond of and she couldn't help but hope that if any of what seemed to be happening really was, it was as good as Jack claimed the lost man to be.

Without warning, a low chuckle sounded in her ears. Alice shivered. She shook her head to clear it, but the laughter was insistent and, frighteningly, not very amicable at all. It rose in volume. Reverberating in the very air around her, it seemed to fill the room but as she leapt to her feet and whirled 'round, she saw that Neris, sleeping peacefully upon several oversized cushions, had not stirred. The priestess that heard all was definitely not hearing what she was hearing. The realization put a chill in Alice Witter's bones and she shuddered, clutching her sides stupidly as if she might be able to fight the shiver that worked its way slowly up her spine to brush at the base of her neck.

A cold new horror washed over her then as she realized... it was as if fingers were playing in her hair.

Eyes wide, she whirled again, fully expecting to see the source of the sound. Instead she saw only the empty room lit by the singular lantern she'd deemed safe enough to keep aglow. To her horror the cackle increased in volume. It shook the air and flickered the flame and Alice gasped as she felt the shiver return to tease her hair. Instinct lifted her hands to the spot to swat, but she cursed it the moment she heard the laughter go quiet and felt the cold chill of death grip her wrists.

"Seems silly, miss?" The words, though a bit raspy, slithered as a snake too close to her ear. The same low chuckle she'd first heard sounded there as she struggled against its cold hold on her. "Can't say I don't agree with ye, Miss Witter. A shame i'tis Jack Sparrow hasn't your sense in his head, but then that's always worked to my advantage so I can't very well lament it much as you must."

"Barbossa!" Alice seethed with the fire of fury though tremble she did with frigid fear as trapped in the grip of Jack's mutinous first mate she was. Gulping back the lump in her throat, she grit her teeth and spat what she knew would knock him from his pedestal. "Or do you prefer Hector these days?"

The growl that rumbled in her ear she hadn't been prepared for, nor for the violent shove. It sent her out the balcony doors. Against the railing she fell, hitting her ribs hard. The impact knocked the breath from her, but it was not what made her eyes go wide. It was the sound of the locks turning in their tumblers, the sound that meant she was trapped with a ghost of a terrible man she did not trust.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

While Jack waited in his rather dark captain's quarters for Will to prepare himself for their swim, he sported with Cinder. With fluttering fingers he baited the cat into action. When the feline leapt for his dancing digits, he snatched them high where they could not be reached and grinned wickedly as the cat fell back to the floor and lashed its tail in wait. Ash watched with a certain detachment, and Jack couldn't help but think that the resemblance between the cat and the woman who'd spoiled her was uncanny.

For whatever reason, as Alice Witter's name crossed his mind, dread washed over him. Certainly such was nothing new, but that there was no reason for the heaviness that so suddenly befell him was quite perturbing in and of itself. Still gazing at Cinder he was but he'd felt himself sober. He knew he was frowning, he knew he was biting the inside of his lip, and he knew well that he'd paused in his playing as his fingers so high in the air had gone still and his arm stiff. Heavy it was with the weight of cold dread pressing down on him and so he lowered it, narrowing his eyes curiously all the while.

With a glance at the equally confused Cinder, he stood and lifted the lantern. Glancing about, he determined that nothing seemed any different than it had moments before. Upon the tray of trinkets his gaze lit. Slowly, cautiously, he crossed the cabin to it, set the lantern beside it, and glared down at all its sparkling contents. Therein were many dazzling bits of value, but he dug through them as if they mattered none, searching for one in particular for no particular reason he could discern. When he'd made a mess of the jewels enough that he was satisfied that the thing was not there, he glared once more at all the finery and turned, frowning down at his ringless fingers and in particular the one where the ring he had been looking for should have been.

Reaching behind him, he looted through the loot he'd only just made a mess of. The emerald he was so fond of he found without looking and brought it around to admire in the light of the lantern. On his index finger he slipped it, all the while glaring at the ring finger of the other hand. "But where did _you_ go?"

"To gather my wits," Will's voice interrupted from somewhere above. Probably, Jack guessed, from the top of the stairs. "Have you yet managed to find yours?"

While usually such a question from the whelp earned a gripe or a grumble, or in some cases a grin, Jack's only response as he frowned down at the place where the ring with the smoky gem should have been was to consider what Will had asked. A stab of what was most likely irrational fear stuck him sharp and for just a moment he heard a hint of a hiss of the woman's name that bade his blood run cold—a chilling feeling that quite made him want to tell Will that they were definitely turning right back around and not bothering with any of this Antolune business—but then he caught the bright glow of the beacon out of the corner of his eye and he remembered William Turner. Warmth spread through him at the memory, the very thought of the friendly essence easing his mind. With a shake of his head, and an exasperated sigh, he lifted the lantern and ambled up the steps. At the top he cocked a brow at Will.

"Wasn't aware I was supposed to be looking for them."

Will folded his arms and tilted a glare at Jack. "That's comforting."

"What'll I be needing me wits for, again?" Jack wrapped an arm around the younger man's shoulders and drew him close as he led them through his captain's quarters. "I've a compass. A swordsman—have you the blade?"

"Yes."

"And..." Throwing open the doors, he led Will amidst the whispers and mutters—and one particularly loud snarl from the woman who Jack had accidentally manhandled under the cloak of dark—toward the rail to motion with a sweeping gesture at the glowing orb of green. "_A guiding light_." After admiring its glow, he winked at Will. "Hardly think me wits'll be necessary in this case."

Will gave him a dubious look. His narrow eyes turned to the glowing orb hovering above the water it lit. The sword resting heavily in its protective sheath he patted at his side and turned to follow Captain Jack Sparrow's leading lantern across the _Pearl_. Startled he was when the pirate foisted the lantern at him but watched with amusement as Jack fumbled in the darkness for his first mate.

"Gibbs?" Jack stopped abruptly, having stridden straight into something solid. It had knocked him back a few paces, and he was fumbling for balance. Despite the utter darkness he leaned in close to whomever he was accosting and squinted to see them in vain. "That you, Mister Gibbs?"

A sharp caw of protest rang out. "_Jack's rum'll do! Jack's rum'll do_!"

"Apparently not," Jack said, falling back at the shrill voice of the parrot. He winced. "My apologies, Mister Cotton." Patting the man's other shoulder, he turned round, having heard footsteps behind him. "_Gibbs_!"

Rolling his eyes, Will lifted the lantern toward the crewman Jack was now reaching for. He arched a brow as three men came into view. Toddul and Lemmy stood back as the captain's hand stilled in the air, close to a shakier Shakes. The trembling pirate offered his irritated captain a trying smile but didn't much succeed as his face seemed to shiver it away. He took that very moment to sneeze, spraying Jack Sparrow's hand with a spattering of wet sheen. To his credit he managed to stay still long enough to mutter a shaky apology.

"Must be allergic to ye, Cap'n Sparrow," Toddul said.

Lemmy clucked his tongue. "Surely a shame, aye?"

Will held his laughter as Jack turned an aggrieved look at the tall man, but couldn't help chuckling a bit as the captain swiped his slimy hand on the hip of his pants. When Jack turned around, however, the chuckle died in his throat. His eyes narrowed angrily as the dissatisfied pirate rubbed dry his offended hand with Will's own shirtsleeve.

"Thanks," Jack told him, patting his wrist with the once-again dry hand as he turned back around to address the three pirates who'd by then scurried off to avoid his anger. Throwing his other hand angrily in the air, he spun around and cupped the other 'round his mouth. "Gibbs! _Get yer bloody bum behind_—"

"Right here, Cap'n."

Jack frowned.

With a shrug, Will lifted the lantern to illuminate the sailor standing stout to port. Gibbs' bushy brows rose at the scrutiny of both the men facing him. Blue eyes flit between them and a meaty hand grasped nervously for the flask looped around his thick neck. A sturdy drink he took from it, only to have it snatched by the captain and eyed up. Jack sniffed it, and his eyes narrowed. Corking it, he pointed it at the sailor and turned his narrow eyes on him.

"Seems we've a discussion to have on the matter of embezzlement, but I think you'd agree it can wait." Arching a brow at the sailor's sheepish shrug, he did not press the issue but rushed on to say what needed said. "Just as you and the crew'll wait for Mister Turner and I to return from our little dip in the dark."

"Well I hate to be the one to ask this, Cap'n," said Gibbs, "but what if ye don't return?"

Jack took the lantern from Will and handed it off to the sailor. Onto the rail he leapt, Will following after, and turned to Gibbs. A grin he flashed at him. "We will." With that, he dove into the darkness and disappeared from view. A splash later and Will shrugged at Gibbs. With a bit of a salute, he dove off the ship. Thrilling it was not to see where it was he was going and so he gave a cry of excitement. The sharp sting of a chilly sea cut him off. Kick up to the surface he did and followed blindly the slight shuddering sound that he knew was Jack treading the cold water.

"It's not very warm," Jack said, most likely with wide, sad eyes.

Will rolled his and reached for the pirate to tug him toward their intended goal—or what he assumed it was, anyway. "It'll be warmer," he promised even as he didn't know it to be true. Indeed, though, the water under the beacon looked much warmer than did their current surroundings. "Come on!"

"Yes—fine, alright," Jack grumbled, snatching his wrist away to follow after. "But for the record, Will, it's me who's in charge here, savvy?"

Will ignored him and swam on toward the beacon. The closer he got, the warmer the water was but it did not worry him. It seemed most comforting, in fact. When he was a few strokes away, he stopped and treaded water, waiting for Jack who was only a breath behind. The pirate paused as well, glancing first aside at him and then up at the beacon. Will arched a brow at him. "Well if you're in charge, Jack... tell me, what do we do now?"

As if in answer, the beacon beamed brilliant in the night, its brightness flaring as if a great green torch. As the both of them thought the same, glancing at each other, flames flickered to life around it and swished together in a swirl of light that brightened at its center. The yellow whirlwind of light sucked downward, whistling into a white whirlpool that shot down into the water like needled thread punched through a weaver's loom.

Jack frowned. "Perhaps I'm not in charge, afterall."

Will watched warily as Jack reached out to flick one of the threads with a fingertip. Caution rang its bell inside him and he batted the pirate's hand away. When Jack turned narrow eyes upon him, he rolled his and shook his head.

"I don't trust it."

Shocked cold he was when another thread spun out from the thing, and colder still when it whipped to whap him across the back of his head. Whirling, he smacked it away. Much offended was his neck, the spot where he'd been smacked chill gooseflesh, and he reached to comfort it. Simmering in anger, he glared at the thread that was being spun back up into the flaming green torch.

Jack's eyes, however, glimmered with amusement as he let loose a long- suffering sigh. "Aye," he told the green, "he has a problem thinking before speaking, he does. But then, he is your son."

Without warning, the thread shot back down and slapped Jack across the face. Will couldn't help but smirk as the pirate floundered, reeling in the water. "You deserved that."

Jack righted himself and glared at him. "That's debatable," he said, making certain to toss as dark a look at the beacon as well. "And that," he said, nodding at the thread which upon closer look seemed made of the light of moonbeams, "is _tangible_."

Will raised his brows.

"Means we can touch it," Jack explained, reaching out then and flicking one thread with a fingertip. It shivered as a string of a violin. "Taut, too." He tested it again and was pleased by its sturdy shudder. "Tied tight to something."

Will's brows knit. "Antolune?"

Jack glanced between the thread and Will and with a smile he wove fingers around it and was promptly swallowed by the water. Startled, Will looked down through that which was illuminated and noted wearily that the threads went beyond that which he could see—which did not include one hint of Captain Jack Sparrow.

Will turned his narrow gaze upon the thread of light that the pirate had grasped. "I still don't trust you," he told it, reaching behind his head for the other that was strung there. Just as a loose thread swung at his cheek, he took a deep breath, grabbed the taut line, and was drenched in darkness before the slap could find him.

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A murmur swept the deck of the _Black Pearl_. Jack's disappearance was one thing—aye, Gibbs thought, most of the crew knew Captain Jack Sparrow well enough to know he would resurface at some point—but Will Turner's following after? By all accounts, Bootstrap's boy had an odd knack for blindsightedness and Gibbs couldn't help but think that in the treacherous dark it seemed a particularly dangerous knack to have. It put the weight of dread in Gibbs' boots, it did.

"_Alright, ye scobs_," he growled at the crew, "_stand ready at the wait_—"

"**Look**! The light!"

Gibbs, slightly irritated he'd been interrupted, turned to gander out at the thing he'd only just looked away from. His blue eyes widened. They lit with the yellow fire that burst from it as it started sinking.

"_Heaven's gates_," he breathed. With a wince he turned toward Anamaria's snort. "S'bad luck to lose a guide's light."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Alice stared at the man who was supposed to be dead—and by the looks of him, the faint flickering of his very visage, he probably was—with what she was sure looked like hate but felt more like cold fear. The only thing she knew for certain was that it did not bode well to be locked away with Barbossa in any form and so she ran for the door, taking its latch in hand. Laugh he did as she tried in vain to turn it, to escape him, and then he grabbed her by the arms and turned her around to face him.

"Always been my preference to be referred to as... 'Captain'," he told her with a chuckle.

Alice had only laid eyes upon the man once in her life, and she had enjoyed it about as much then as she did now. As much being not much at all. Though he was certainly of stately stature befitting a captain, he had the eyes what matched his voice. They were the eyes of a snake, no less yellow than they had been when last she'd been forced to look up into them, and so fitting they were as that was indeed what she saw him to be.

As ready to strike he'd seemed only a moment earlier, his mask of fury faded to one of amusement. Chuckle again he did, and smiled smugly at her. "Consider me flattered, miss. Though I wouldn't expect a pretty little dove like ye to rightly admire the stealth with which the snake stalks his prey."

Seeing his golden eyes light on spot behind her, Alice turned and saw to her horror that a brown, black-eyed sparrow had perched upon the railing. It twittered oblivious, hopping this way and that on the rail. Too concerned with fluffing its feathers, it failed to notice the gnarled hand that swiped for it. Barbossa snatched it up and squeezed it in his hand, a chuckle more vicious than before rasping from his throat as the sparrow fought to free itself. Hissing, he squeezed it till a sickening squanch squashed it. The bird struggled no more. With a laugh he tossed it to the sea and turned on Alice, gaze afire with the promise of malice.

"I've been stalking mine, Miss Witter," he said; smile still upon his lips though his voice held no trace of it. "I've been stalking mine and though it puts a smile on my face to watch him squirm, I must admit I think it's at long last time to strike him down to hell where he belongs."

"It's you who belongs in hell," she hissed, taking a step back so as not to let him capture her as he had the bird, "you treacherous snake! _Slither back_!"

Barbossa chuckled and grabbed her wrist, dragging her toward him. Danger flashed in his eyes as well as his rankling, rotten grin. "Aye," he laughed, his cold grip on her tightening painfully as his calculating gaze bore through her, "I mean to, Alice Witter, but not before Jack Sparrow be damned to the hot fury of hell's cage!"

"Never to happen! He would fight it!"

"Oh, aye," said Barbossa with a smile, "that he will. That he will, Miss Witter, indeed he will struggle, and fight, and try to take flight—but try as he might, fight though he may, he'll struggle, well, for the rest of his endless days in eternity!" Too close for comfort, he waggled his brows. "I can't wait." His countenance changed to gauge her snarl of a reaction, and he cocked his head, eyes narrowing upon her. "Might I inquire, missy, just what the devil it is ye see in the fool to begin with?"

"You're the fool for asking," she grit through gnashed teeth. "You know well what it is—but I suppose I can not blame you for your curiosity as I'm sure it's something _you_ never had!"

The ghastly ghost of a pirate grew furious in front of her eyes, his widening as his nostrils flared. He glowered at her, his grip squeezing hard her wrist and sending a shudder through her to her very core. "_Curb yer tongue_!"

Alice gasped, his grip surely tight enough to creak her bones, but she sneered through the pain as she knew she'd cut him. "You're wasting your breath," she told him, "if you think I'll take orders from a phantom who is not my captain." Emboldened by her words, she stood on tiptoe to glare at him, to bare her teeth. "I'll _not_."

Frustrated, Barbossa tossed her aside and flung a hand in the air. "Fine. Tisn't as though I _need_ your respect to do what it is I intend to." He turned then and swept off his wide-brimmed hat, the half plume of feather fluttering in the air as he pressed the thing to his chest. "Tell me, are ye a faithful woman, missy?"

She righted herself, clutched her smarting wrist, and glared at him. "Perhaps."

"Then I might suggest that _perhaps_ ye start praying."

Alice's eyes narrowed. "For what?"

Barbossa chuckled and his eyes glinted as a smug smile lifted his lips. "Forgiveness."

With that, Alice felt herself being smothered by the snake's sickening kiss of death. Giving a cry of protest, she tried desperately to pull away but could not. The last thing she heard was that terrifying cackle she knew meant trouble and she hoped that Jack Sparrow was keeping well out of it. It was then that she was swallowed whole and the world went utterly black.


	33. A Treacherous Place

A rather odd feeling it was, Jack thought, to slip through the ocean water as if it were not there at all even though it was all around him. It was so dark that he could not see, but he could feel and what he felt was altogether strange. There was such warmth... and in the darkest of places where it seemed there should be only death cold. He supposed it was Bootstrap's warmth, but Will's words kept their timbre in his head with a much more heated resonance.

"_I don't trust it_."

A glance upward showed no sign of Will following after. In the solemnity of the darkness, Jack gazed at the silvery thread slipping through his fingers. With a frown, he wondered what might happen were he to let go. He was near to testing the theory when a glance aside revealed a set of brown eyes glaring at him from under a pair of knit brows. Feigning innocence, Jack smirked back at Will Turner.

The smug sentiment faded, however, when it seemed that the both of them felt the threads slipping from their grasp. Eyes wide, they both looked above, and saw the orb of light descending upon them. It was gathering its threads as it went. Jack ignored the accusatory glance from Will and glanced below.

A blanket of green below was fast approaching. Instinct told Jack that it would be no good to hurtle toward it and so he gripped the thread as tight as possible, kicking out at Will to nod such instruction. It seemed too late, however, as the end of the thread was tugged from both their grasping fingers.

A wave of fear rolled through Jack as he felt himself falling fast and free through the thickening water. He watched, transfixed, as the yellow orb floated to a stop. Its brilliant flash lit all and golden water streamed up toward it, all around them. Startled, Jack grabbed for Will. He missed just as he felt a splash and a burst of air. The water gone, he let loose the cry that had been burning his lungs. He heard Will's over the snap of branches and felt then the brush of foliage that he realized meant they were falling through trees.

Will's landing thudded in his ears and he braced himself for his own. To his dismay he landed with a sickening smack. It sent a spray of slime into the air. With a wince, he opened his eyes. He saw a very much amused Will Turner standing on a bank above the swampy pond. Jack opened his mouth to respond but was promptly splattered in slippery muck.

"Well _Captain_ Sparrow," said Will, grinning as he offered forth a dry hand, "welcome to the jungle."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Neris woke with a start. Straight up she sat and found that she was pitched into blackness darker than sleep. Apparently the lantern had gone out, she surmised, albeit a bit too groggily. She shook her head to clear the silver trails of dreamland fog—too much of it thanks to the many minds mixing and twisting with her own—and gazed warily at the lantern that had indeed gone out. To the window she looked sharply, and her eyes narrowed on the spot—the dark spot that should have been a green orb of light.

The doors burst open behind her. Isaac Faust rushed in, a lit lantern in his hand. It did naught to light the darkness that had fallen over them, but did nicely illuminate his panicked expression that Neris felt before she saw. As she crossed the room to him, he lifted the lantern to see her. A scowl twisted his face.

"_It's gone_—"

"Yes, I—"

"_The stars have all disappeared_—"

"Yes, I—"

"_The moon shines no more. There is nothing but darkness all around us, and_—"

"I see—"

"_And the beacon we were to sail after is **gone**_!" Isaac grabbed her roughly and shook her a bit. "What's happening, Neris? _I know that you know_!" When she did not respond save for a glare, he growled. "_You know everything_! Tell me what is happening!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Captain Jack Sparrow supposed that he should have been pleased beyond imaginable belief—but he was not. No, he was not pleased at all. In fact, he found guiltily that he'd been hoping that Antolune would stay lost. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there, or to find the mythical sword of the mythical deity. No... that, he decided with a shrug, was fine and dandy. He could even get past the fact that he'd been welcomed there in a pool of murky muck. But that he had to make his way to the sword through a dense, dark, and dangerous jungle—a wet and wild forest, really—was more than slightly off-putting.

At the very least, it seemed that the beacon's light still shone above. It was difficult to say, for the thick roof of greenery only allowed slivers of light through the darkness. Still, he was certain there would be no light at all if it were not for the light that had sunk with them.

"How will we know," asked Will, "where to look?"

Jack stopped walking, the hand that had been toying with his sword going instantly idle.

Will folded his arms. "We won't, will we?"

"Don't worry," Jack said, clapping him on the shoulder, "I've a good idea." Ignoring the look of disbelief on Turner's face, he gulped back his fear of the foliage and forged ahead through it. To his relief he heard the soft sigh that meant Will intended to follow after. Not that he actually _needed_ the whelp—no, of course he didn't, for he was, afterall, Captain Jack Sparrow—whose toes something indiscernible had just slithered over—who'd _disappeared_. "Will—" he broke off, blanching as he saw a flowering bush ahead shake, "_WILL_ WHERE_ARE_YOU?!"

"Right here, Jack."

The pirate, somewhat becalmed, glanced down at the hand that had fallen on his shoulder. "Oh." Its weight, and stability, forced the visions of unhinging tigers' jaws—full of saber-sharp teeth—out of his head and he sobered a bit. "Good. Wouldn't want you to fall behind. The jungle's not all fun and games... could be dangerous, you know." With that, he took a cautious step forward and hoped his nervous glance about went unnoticed. "Never know what could be alurk."

"Well I suppose I should stay close to you then," Will said dryly, hand darting forward to smack a palm frond out of their way, "since the danger lurking so silently may make itself known by all your shrieking."

Jack shot him what he hoped was a venomous look but could not comment for something that sounded a bit too much like foliage shuddering seemed a bit too close for comfort. His gaze, more worried than venomous he imagined, switched to the tall, green plant he'd just brushed by. Indeed it was still shivering, its green stalk swaying just a little. The way its long leaves unfurled brought to mind the image of a plant with hands and, unwilling to dwell on that horror, Jack hastened his step forward—and was clutched suddenly by the neck. Whatever it was twisted snug about his throat. It strangled a startled cry from him and in his panic he turned to fight it. The move was in vain, however, as whatever it was only tightened its grip. His hands flew to it just as he heard the sound of a blade hissing in the air and slicing through something a bit more tangible than that. To his relief, the grip slackened and he glanced down at the vise that fell away to the ground.

"Only vines, Jack," Will said, tucking the late Scotsman's sword into its scabbard. He arched a brow. "I daresay they aren't out to get you."

Not willing to let the whelp ruffle him further than the vegetation had, Jack lifted his chin and stared down his nose at the smirking blacksmith. "You never know what could be out to get you, Mister Turner. That's why I say it is always best to keep a sharp eye."

"Perhaps you should heed your own advice then," Will suggested. "Instead of stepping so blindly ahead, perhaps you should watch where you are going." His own chin lifted, then fell just as quickly and he glowered at the pirate. "But then you don't really know where you're going to begin with..."

Captain Jack Sparrow had had enough sass. It was simply intolerable the way the whelp sometimes questioned the way in which he did things... especially, he noted with annoyance, when in the midst of a deep, dark jungle on a sunken island in the center of the Caribbean Sea. The circumstances led Jack to take a bold stance before Will—hand on his hip, he stared down at him through narrow eyes. "Are you telling me, lad, that you doubt your captain?"

Will didn't answer, but his brows knit in consternation.

Pleased with that, Jack let his head lilt to the side and raised his brows. "Well?"

Will hesitated.

Unpleased with that, Jack's eyes narrowed further with a glare.

"It isn't that I doubt you, Jack," said Will finally, with some matter of caution in his voice, "it's that I doubt your methods."

Pleased with that, Jack smiled smugly at him. "Me methods, Mister Turner, are tried and true—wizened by the wisest of wisdom..." He paused and listened to the jungle around them. Heavily silent it was... for the most part. He canted his head toward that which wasn't and took a step ahead.

Will frowned and followed. "What's that?"

But Jack wasn't sure. And, actually, he didn't care for not being sure whilst being in the midst of a deep, dark jungle on a sunken island in the center of the Caribbean Sea. "How should I know?" He was vaguely aware of the sour note in his voice, but much more aware of the raspy ripping sound he was stepping cautiously closer to. "Isn't as if I possess the uncanny sight your father was gifted with."

Will halted.

Jack glanced down at the hand that gripped his arm and followed its arm up to Will's narrow eyes. He was fully aware, then, that he'd said something Will hadn't read about, and realized, then, that William would have definitely not writ about what he'd mentioned for fear of the knowledge falling into the careless grip of the wrong hands. "Intuition," he explained, gently removing the hand from his arm. "William was blessed—or cursed, as he so liked to put it—with a sense of sight unknown to most but the Intuits themselves."

Not caring to venture further down that road, about as little as he cared to venture in the direction they were heading, Jack quickened his step ahead. He was not surprised to hear Will's steps hurry after, but the sound did slump his shoulders as he knew the whelp wouldn't settle for simple answers such as that which he'd given.

"Why did he not write about it?"

"Think about it," Jack said in a low voice, trying to listen to the jungle. "If you were a pirate, Will... drifting about with other greedy ne'er-do-well scoundrels... would you want them to find out that you had the ability to make them the richest, most powerful pirates that e'er sailed the seven seas?" Pausing, he turned to look at the whelp who seemed to be struggling with the idea. "Open books are easily read, son. Your father kept his closed, but more importantly... he kept what he didn't want to be read out of it. Savvy?"

Will seemed unaffected by that, his brow still furrowed.

Jack had the gnawing suspicion that whatever it was that was troubling Will wasn't really why he hadn't writ about his mind's gift in the journal he kept, but something much larger that the blacksmith could not yet put into words. He waited, patiently, listening all the while to the whispering of the trees. It seemed almost coherent, that whisper of the whistling of wind—wind that he did not feel. A prickle of fear shivered him much as the plants they'd brushed past.

"Was it not... death, then, but the intuition he possessed—was that how he read my mind?"

"William didn't do that," said Jack, distracted by the flustering foliage, "never did..."

Will frowned. "But..."

Impatient, Jack scowled. "_Your father _never_ read minds_. It was his unerring sense of right and wrong that kept him from such a..." Jack frowned, a sudden sinking feeling making heavy his shoulders. They drooped. "Trick..."

The raspy ripping sound was getting louder, reverberating all around them. Yet it was not so much an unnatural sound. It was rather earthly, and coupled with the way the ground was a-tremor beneath their feet—and there was yet no wind, but the trees were still shivering, the fronds of the withered palms furling and unfurling—

"If he didn't read my mind," Will said slowly, "who did?"

"Well. That..." Jack said, gaze flitting about them as the ground shook, plantlife shivered, and the sound grew louder yet, "is a good question."

It was then that the raspy ripping sound was loudest of all, and then that they both saw before them what it was. One wilted plant sprang to life, its green fronds shuddering with the effort. It rose tall toward the beacon's faint yellow light and did not stop until its gnarled stalk ripped itself from the earth, all its knotty roots sending soil flying as they rent the earth and unfurled on the ground.

Jack blanched and, unlike the shivering plant, was rooted to the spot. A hundred morbid thoughts screamed in his head, begging to be heard, but he couldn't hear one of them. He didn't have to hear them to know that this, this terrible sight before him—and, he noted with wide eyes, all around the both of them as more plants sprang to life and towered o'er them—was his worst nightmare. The jungle they'd been lurking had been lurking itself. Its plants had come to life.

To Jack's horror, he heard again the fast swish of blade through air. A whisper of a slice was followed by a shrill whistle and a fluttering so furious that fronds flew. Dismayed, Jack watched them burst out all around he and Will, whom he turned to glare at as the plants that the whelp hadn't slashed crept closer.

"You know," he said, "I do so _hate_ to be the bearer of bad news, Will, but that was probably what most sensible folk would refer to as _doing something very stupid_."

Will glared back. But then his narrow eyes grew wide. "_Look out_!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"I do not know."

Neris' confession made Isaac Faust's grip all the more painful, but it was not what sprang tears to her eyes. What hurt most of all was that something had happened unbeknownst to her—and that she'd sent Jack Sparrow and Will Turner blindly to face whatever had come to fruition. She knew well—too well for all the fear fogging her head—that it was the same anxiety that had so shaken Isaac. When disbelief and anger flared in his blue eyes, she mirrored them.

"I did not foresee it!"

Heavy footsteps that could not be anyone else's save for the big captain's plodded up the stairs. They came to an abrupt stop. A low grumble sounded from the spot. "Wha's the trouble?"

Isaac ignored him. "You foresee all!" His eyes narrowed on Neris. "Do not try to turn tricks on me, you deceptive daughter of Neptune!"

"Laddy—"

"Turn tricks?!" The Intuit Priestess cut Samson off. Despite the instinctual nudge that told her she should feel compassion for the man who been but a boy when last she saw him, she was quite angry that he had had the gall to speak to her so. "Not on you, Isaac. Not on any of you! To mine friends I am no deceiver."

"Lady—"

"A likely story," Isaac thundered over Samson. "But one I refuse to believe... You've led us to danger for the sake of an _old flame_, Neris!"

The accusation stunned all the rest of the emotion from Neris and burned her afire. Smoldering, she stared back at Isaac with as much indignance as her reeling mind and bleeding heart would allow. There was nothing then but darkness and anger and resentment—and it was mirrored in Isaac's eyes as well as her own.

"Eh?"

The both of them turned to look at Samson even though they could not see him. Neris knew, however, that as startled as he was, he was quickly working out what Isaac had said in his head and would soon look to her with the same suspicion. Wary of it, she turned woeful eyes up at Sparrow's son.

"Tell the truth," he said, calmer than he had been but with much more threat in his voice. "Tell us, Neris, does this voyage of ours end you up in your dead lover's favor? Is it that we seek something that will gain you his good graces from the grave he went into before it was he forgave you for having almost tore apart his family?"

"No, Isaac," she said, words faltering for the first time in a long time, "it was his family, not my heart, that I wished to see mend."

"_Right_ and I'm the Commodore—"

"Laddy," growled Samson, "tha's enough!" He stomped over into the light and the angry glare on his face, the jagged scar twitching with the tensing of his jaw, was enough to stun the both of them silent. "Both of you, enough! First," he said, poking a big finger at Isaac, "tha's no way to speak to a lovely lass! And second," he said, poking a big finger of the other hand at Neris, "he best _not_ be right, Neris, or I'll have yer fishy head!"

Neris and Isaac exchanged wary glances.

"Las'ly," the great Scot growled, grabbing the lantern and foisting it in the direction of the empty chaise lounge, "where be Jacky's dove?"

But they didn't have time to answer him, for Elizabeth Turner flew in the doors, stumbling in the darkness over the upturned corner of the rug. The lantern in her hand swung unsteady, but she righted herself and it before any harm was done. Her brown eyes were wide. "We'll soon be upon the _Pearl_!"

Isaac frowned. "How would you know that? We can not see anything!"

"But the priests can," Mrs. Turner said, glancing o'er her shoulder, "And they said so!"

With a glare of warning at Neris and Isaac, Samson strode past Elizabeth. She turned to watch him disappear on deck in darkness. Hearing the two make haste across the room, she lifted her lantern and followed the noise, frowning at the chaise before her. "Where is Alice?"

"Well," growled Isaac, his angry gaze once more finding Neris, "that'd be the question, wouldn't it?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

When Will Turner needed to be fast, he was faster. Jack was not surprised to find himself shoved unceremoniously to the ground. He bit face first into the grit. Over his grumble he heard the distinct sound of the sword slicing through air and stalk that meant one of the plants had been ready to strike him. As fronds filled the air he leapt to his feet, fixed a shrugging Will with a glare, and grabbed the fool's wrist. Mindful of the plants suddenly sweeping in on them, he ducked the both of them under one swiping green hand. There he tugged Will into a run.

It wasn't a very fast run for all the dodging of uprooted foliage, and more haphazard than most of the running the both of them had ever done, but it seemed well necessary and so they scurried through the deep, dark jungle avoiding certain death at every twist and turn. Several times greenery charged them and several times they ducked out of its path in the nick of time. There was a moment of hesitation as the foliage surrounded them once again, and then Will drew the Scotsman's sword once more.

"Was _this_ part of your plan?" With the so-called flowers of fate, Will fended off both raving entities that rushed him. He took the split second of rest to glance over his shoulder to the pirate at his backside. "Doing battle with the very vines around us?"

"I suppose you mean finding the greenery gone mad with hate?" Jack dodged three of the creatures in one swoop and stooped down as another tried to strangle him in the green of its grasp. "No! Not quite what I imagined!"

Will spun in a circle, swinging wide. One after another he cut down the plants at the stalk. The fronds flew in the air, and he ducked as the fourth's green limbs shot out to smack him upside the head. Grunting with the effort, he slashed at its left limb and spun to slash at its right. When finally he'd reduced the plantlife to a pile of fronds, they scurried onward. Jack tried to keep his wits about him—glad they hadn't abandoned him altogether—and tried to keep both he and Will toward the goal he'd had in mind despite the young Turner's angry glares whenever he was tugged in an opposite direction.

"We just came that way!"

"Did you truly doubt me, Will Turner?"

Jack, pleased with the understanding dawning on the other man's face, tugged Will back and turned on his heel. His foot flexed. He'd have run if something had not wrapped itself around his ankle. Instead, he fell face first forward to the ground.

"Must I really answer that?"

Growling, Jack retrieved the dagger from its secure spot in his sash and glared at the vines wrapping around him. They'd started at his ankle and were slithering up his leg. With one swift swipe he slashed through them and leapt to his feet. "I don't think it will be necessary at this point in time." His gaze flit to the towering tree that was lumbering up behind Will and he arched a brow. "However, I do think it's time we pick up the pace."

But Will was not having it this time, his arms folding themselves stubbornly o'er his chest. "The entire jungle is after us, Jack. To where shall we run?"

"Far," Jack said nervously, gaze switching between his friend and the tree slowly approaching. It was the most menacing yet, its limbs thick and twisted and swinging with every step. "Far away!"

Will frowned. "Away from what?"

The ground trembled. It shook the both of them. They reached for each other and Will's wide eyes sought out the sight that Jack had saw.

"From _that_!"

"Oh," said Will.

One of the limbs swung at him. Jack grabbed him by the back of his vest and wrenched him back in time to watch the wood whomp the grit at their feet with a force that would have planted the blacksmith in the ground. Stunned still, they turned horrified gazes on each other and then up at the walloping tree lumbering o'er them.

"Run," breathed Jack.

"Where?!"

"That way," the pirate captain pointed out. "Most assuredly that way!"

They leapt in that opposite direction, narrowly avoiding a swipe of limb. Branches scraped Will's shoulders and the backs of Jack's knees but they didn't stop running. Not even as one of the striking limbs thrashed Jack's side, knocking him into Will, did they stop running. They stumbled a bit, but kept quickly ahead, dodging other plants that popped up along the way. Those seemed to slow the tree somewhat, for it seemed hesitant to stomp its fellow green friends.

"Good idea!"

"Yes," Jack shouted back, "I thought so myself!"

When the ground shook less and they could see only the top of the tree swaying in the distance above the other swaying but otherwise stationary sentinels, they slowed down. Jack led on toward that which he'd been keeping an ear on, glad for once that his hypersensitive hearing that made him over-aware of that which was hidden in deep of the dark jungle. The sound of running water had tipped him off, and when he and Will cleared through a swaying bunch of immobile plants his suspicions were confirmed. Admittedly, he felt slightly victorious.

"This, Mister Turner," he said, pride swelling his chest as he swept a hand toward the winding black river, "is what we were running to." He shook his head and smirked at Will. "I can't believe you doubted me for even a _smidge_ of a second." Allowing himself a bit of a grin, he patted the incredulous Turner on the shoulder and ambled toward the river's edge. "I am Captain Jack Sparrow, afterall."


	34. Traitorous Trickery

The absence of the giant man who'd been hogging the covers stirred Jack Turner awake. He cracked open an eye and frowned. It was really, really dark. Too dark, he thought, sitting up. Careful not to wake his sister—as she was every bit the surly picture of his mother when people woke her prior to when it was she wanted to wake herself—he crawled out of the huge bed and narrowed his eyes as if it would help him see. It didn't, in fact, and were he an older man he might've cussed the darkness for all he were worth. As it was, he was yet a young lad and so he settled for trying to find his way to the stairs.

Somehow, after much stumbling, he managed to strike the bottom step—with his toe. Giving a yelp, he kicked it angrily. To his dismay it hurt worse and so, cussing the step for all it was worth, he hopped up the rest of them and found before him utter chaos.

At some point his elders had must've thought it was too dark themselves. They'd lit every candle, and the room was ablaze with yellow light. It was also ashambles. Cushions were tossed about as if the place had been ransacked. For a fleeting moment he wondered if pirates had attacked and looted their ship, but it passed when he saw Isaac Faust, dressed in rumpled clothing but otherwise untouched, bent low and peering under the round table.

"Lookin' for somethin'?"

The disheveled man leapt up, whirling to fix Jack with an accusatory glare. Before he'd the chance to advance, however, Jack's mother appeared, fire in her eyes. The lad smiled sweetly up at her, and at the strange exotic woman called Neris who peered at him from between the hands she'd buried her face in.

"Get back to bed, you," his mother scolded, hurrying toward him. "What did I tell you upon the conclusion of our bedtime story, young sir? _It isn't _nice_ leaving your sister to her lonesome_!"

But Jack ducked her hands and scurried into the room. For all the darkness he'd seen a flash of white through the balcony doors and he was not about to let it go without at least a preliminary investigation. Pressing his nose to them, he squinted down at the deck where it lay.

"Jack!" Missus Turner sighed and strode across the room towards him. "Can you not see that we are preoccupied? We can not mind you in the midst of our search for..." Her hand stilled on his shoulder and she turned with wide eyes to the other adults in the room. "_Alice_!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Guiding a ship through complete and utter darkness was a mite more difficult than Samson could handle. Steady as she was, the _Swan_ could not tell the Scotsman which way to turn her wheel. If it weren't for the three Intuits strolling the deck and calling out directions and warnings, he might've sailed unknowingly off the edge of the map.

"Lucky fer me," he scoffed, jerking the wheel starboard as one of the men shouted the order to him. "Can't see a bleedin' thing an' I ain't even slightly in me cups!"

A commotion below his feet cast his glance there even though he could not see. He wondered if the lad and lady were again at each other's throats. For their sake, he hoped they were not. Irritation twisted his face in a grimace. He stomped his foot.

"_Look_!"

Samson looked up then, and swore a string of praises to the angels in heaven. Leagues away, but straight ahead, there floated a speck of yellow light. "Aye, I see her." He glanced down at the skinny priest scurrying up the stairs. "Can I trust ya to hold her steady, mate?"

"But..." the priest stared down at the spoke in his hand and then peered over the rail at the giant who'd stomped down the stairs. "Big captain—"

Whatever the bag of bones said, Samson didn't know. He'd flung open the door to the captain's quarters and strode in, relieved to see that someone had had the sense of mind to light a few candles. What he saw was somewhat a relief—the Faust lad, Will's wife, and Neris huddled over the Witter woman.

"Ye found her, then?"

Neris, whose hand was upon the woman's head, looked up at him but did not answer. She closed her eyes and drew a thumb o'er Miss Witter's temple. "She is not with us, but she is not gone."

"What," growled Isaac, "does that mean?"

"It means," Neris said, "that as she breathes here before us, her spirit soars elsewhere. Let us have hope that it will return to her."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

There was darkness and cold, and the feeling of having no feeling at all as some sort of consciousness returned to Alice Witter. To her disgust she did feel a snakelike tongue writhing around hers. Wondering if he'd somehow managed to take her from life itself, Alice Witter wrenched herself from Barbossa's grasp and spat the acrid taste of his rotten kiss from her mouth. Furious, she swung a fist at his chuckling lips and was ever more angry when it passed right through them.

"Now, now," he chastised with a sneer of a smile. He waggled his brows at her and indicated with a proud hand his flickering self. "Can't touch this."

Alice growled and glowered up at him, baring her teeth. "I bet you bloody well _wish_ I could, Hector."

Barbossa's fury mounted, his hands going to fists at his sides. A low growl rumbled from his throat but turned to a hiss of laughter, his yellow eyes flicking behind her. "Just like a woman to say the things that strike so deep a man's heart, eh William Turner?"

Stunned, Alice spun around. To her horror, she saw a slightly hazy figure of a handsome man—the less pretty version of Will Turner down to the warm brown eyes—sitting calmly in a chair. He was puffing quietly on an ivory smoking pipe. It seemed he was not shocked to see her in the way she was to see him. In fact, to her eye, he looked as if what was happening was not at all out of the ordinary.

"Well I'd say good evening," he said in a voice smooth as smoke, "but I don't think yers has been all that enjoyable."

Alice stalked to him. Her eyes narrowed on his hazy visage, on the unblinking gaze that stared so easily up at her, and she bared her teeth. "Traitor," she hissed, "it's your own son you've tricked!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Watching Will Turner slosh about the edge of the riverbed, Jack took a gingerly seat on one of the smooth boulders and examined the damage done his side by the lash of branch. At the seam his shirt was torn ragged and he was none too surprised to find spots of crimson that meant he'd bled a bit. By the feel of things, he thought with a wince as he reached for his ribs, he'd been a bit bruised. All in all, however, it was nothing more than he could handle. It was nothing compared to the sinking feeling in his gut.

Somehow, he reasoned quietly, they'd all been played fools. Even Neris, for all her tricks, had been tricked. And by whom, he wondered. With a glance aside he saw that Will wore the weary look that meant he was wondering the same. For a few moments he watched the young Turner out of the corner of his eye, and for the sag of the whelp's shoulders couldn't help but feel just a bit sorrier for him than he felt for himself. Gathering what strength he'd left, and wits too, Jack rose from the rocks and picked his way gingerly over the smaller ones toward Will.

"It wasn't my father."

Jack had reached out to lay a hand upon Will's shoulder but stopped short of it. And just in time, he noted, as the man turned abruptly to face him. Wearily, he noted the dismal dismay in Will's brown eyes.

"Was it?"

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short by the sound and shake that meant the tree that had been waylaid was on its way. His gaze switched side to side. Downstream, he imagined, led to more such tributaries. He'd studied enough maps to know as much. Upstream, however, would lead to the mouth of the river and, if he were right, the mouth of the river was exactly what they were looking for. Without preamble he took Will's arm and together they dashed up the riverbed to dodge the walloping whomp of the tree they'd already had a brush with.

They'd gone some ways when the black waters around their feet rushed faster downstream. Startled, they both cast a glance over their shoulders. They both lost their footing, splashing into the water that the whipping trees roots were drinking up. Struggling against the current, for fear of being swept right to the thing that seemed to want to wallop them, they splashed their way toward dry ground. When he reached it first, Jack scrambled to his feet, hooked a foot in the narrow space between two boulders, and latched onto Will Turner's grasping hand.

But in that instant the river ran dry. Cussing a bit at the crunch of wood that meant the tree was moving again, Jack let go of Will's hand and shoved him forcefully in the direction they'd been trying to run. "Go!"

With wide, worried eyes, Will stumbled forward but rose gracefully on his legs and took off like a shot. Grumbling a bit, Jack wrenched his boot from the boulders and bounded after. From rock to rock he leapt, boots barely skimming their surface, until he caught up. He dove into a clean roll toward the dry riverbed. The bumpy surface of pebbles he barely noticed for all the adrenaline pumping in his veins. With a cry of triumph he sprang to his feet and broke into a run beside Will.

"How much longer do you think it'll follow?"

"Depends," Jack shouted back. "However long d'ye think it'll take to catch us?"

Will scowled.

Behind them cracked the groaning bellow of the wood that was giving chase. Fast they went around the corner. Ahead there sounded a soft rustling. And to his everliving horror, Jack saw some ways before them a circle of towering, twisted and twisting trees.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"However long d'ye think that'll take?" Four sets of eyes turned t'ward Samson, three of them narrow and one glinting with amusement. He shrugged. "We're nigh upon the Pearl. Floatin' straight-aways she is. Figure Jacky'll be none too pleased to hear 'is dove's coo's gone silent."

"Don't worry," Neris said quietly. "Jack has not yet made it back to the Pearl."

Elizabeth Turner's eyes narrowed. "And what of Will?"

"Yes, Neris," Isaac hissed, "what of them? What do you now know?"

"Laddy," Samson warned.

Neris folded her arms o'er her chest and closed her eyes. "They have been tricked into more trouble than they know. I do not know what it is." When she opened her eyes, they were narrow. "But I intend to find out."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Massive limbs swept between the circle of sentinels. Branches swiped the ground, loose leaves soaring through the air with every whip. Twigs scattered so far as to smatter Jack and Will with the scrape of the sharp shards of wood. The rustle Jack had at first heard was nothing as compared to the whooshing of wind the gnarled giants swiped into motion. It was, he thought nervously, the sound of one's soul being sucked to its illest fate.

"Around them?"

Jack glanced aside at Will and was at the same time relieved and terrified to see his same horror etched upon the younger man's face. He glanced o'er his shoulder at the following tree and then looked ahead to the wide circle of its fellows. "No! Through them!"

"Through them?!"

Noting Will's disbelief, which he admittedly shared at the moment, he attempted to flash the man a reassuring smile but knew it wavered too much to be considered so. The wind was whistling as they neared, and Jack turned to shout one last thing at Will before they rushed into it. "It may be a good idea to watch for falling branches!"

The look Turner shot him was one of the darkest he had ever, and Jack couldn't help but agree with it. It had been a most ridiculous thing to say—for surely Will was going to be watching out for branches... the branches would be, Jack figured, falling purposely into them. As soon as they leapt over the first set of clumpy, bumpy roots, he was proven most certainly correct in that assumption.

A thick tree limb swung at them so fast that all they'd time to do was tuck and roll. When Jack leapt to his feet, he was promptly knocked aside by a lesser limb. The distance between he and Will seemed a great one in the midst of such deafening dread. Dodging limbs and twigs, whipping roots, leaves and branches, he tried desperately to get to his friend. The trees were having none of it, however. More they struck at him, and more he had to dash to and fro and forward altogether. As he dove between two swinging limbs, Will came into view. The sinking feeling in Jack's stomach flipped.

Will was standing upon one of the roots. He had in his hand the flowers of fate. Its blade was stuck through the root he stood on. It wriggled and writhed under his feet, but he held steady. So focused he was on not falling that when he hefted his sword out of the wriggling root he did not see the other whip out to wallop him. The force of the blow sent both he and the sword sprawling, and even though the anger creaking the trees and the whistle of wind were so loud, Jack heard the sickening smack that meant Will Turner had been flung too hard into tree trunk.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The pirates aboard the _Black Pearl_ were not yet certain what their captain had gotten himself into, aside from the sea of course. They had all, including Gibbs and Anamaria, seen him disappear in the dark of the water just before the great green beacon had followed in a yellow blaze of glory, and they had all shivered with anticipation. There was of course a faction of them who seemed to believe that 'that Cap'n Jack' would rise from the depths glorious and victorious and with the secret to a cache of riches beyond their wildest dreams—but they were few and far between those whose thoughts turned to the more worrisome idea that perhaps the slightly daft Jack Sparrow had finally made his craziest leap.

"Stupid fool," spat Anamaria, her hands jabbing the air angrily and dangerously close to the three men nearest her. She turned on her heel, missing the wary looks upon all their faces, and grabbed the lantern that had made its way to Roth's hand. "If he thinks we be followin' after he's another think comin'!"

"_Temper, temper_," squawked the parrot.

The young helmsman raised his brows at Cotton but watched as his superior stalked off with an angry, but attractive, sway into the darkness. Eventually the lantern in her hand was the only bit of her he was able to see. A shame, he counted that.

"**_Oi_**!" The startled shout of Toddle turned most of the men in its direction. "_Looks to be like we got comp'ny_!"

Past the voice and out over black water they peered into the darkness. Spots of light danced in it. Gibbs clambered over Roth to press himself against the rail. He took up his flask, narrowed his blue eyes, and took a hearty swallow of rum before he turned 'round to face the crew he could not see.

"_On yer guard_," he shouted, "_and be at the ready_!"

When whatever it was loomed closer, Gibbs was pleased to see that all the men had obeyed his orders. Even Anamaria was perched in the crow's nest like an angry raven waiting to swoop down upon whatever crawled their way. Whatever it was was none too small, it seemed to him, and near swift as they. "Hope for us all," he muttered. He glanced out at the water. "And for ye too, Cap'n."

"_Whatcha riled fer_?"

The deep Scottish brogue was loud in the near silence of the still waters. A mite later, Sam Samson's great big head appeared lit by the lantern he held by it. A great grin spread across his face at the red—orange in the lamplight—of Gibbs'.

"_S'only us o' the bonny _Swan_ come to save the day_!"

Gibbs snorted. "Hope be damned..."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack hadn't time to dwell on Will. There was, he heard, another sound slicing fast for him. A glance upward found a glint of silver, a flash of smited flora.

Pressed for time, Jack covered his head and ducked. It was fortunate he had, for the flowers of fate stuck hard into the ground behind him. If it had been his salted self stuck like that... Jack perished the thought with a growl. The smack he'd heard echoed in his head and tore at his heart as he reached for the sword. Its blade made a satisfying squelch as he, with strength he'd not thought he possessed, heaved it up out of the scattering soil.

"Have it your way, you clump of pernicious plankwood," he snarled, twirling the silver tip of the sword in the air. "_No more Mister Nice Pirate_!"

At that, Jack hefted the thing and swung at the limb sweeping toward him. The blade sliced swiftly through the wood, chopping the thing in two. He leapt back as one piece thudded to the ground before him and turned on his heel to do battle with the branches that he heard swipe at him. Growling and whipping his hair from his face, he struck out. The first he sliced, the second he slashed, and the third he cut down to size. The root underfoot he heard whipping toward him and he whirled, chopping the thing from the trunk. To his satisfaction it withered, and its tree creaked a scream.

A wicked grin split his face and fury filled his eyes with fire. "This," he spat at it, swinging around the trunk to avoid a limb lobbed his way, "is for being such a big stick!" Ducking low to dodge a smacking stick, he twirled the sword behind him and sliced neatly through another three roots. "This," he told it, bringing up the blade to slash the last root that whipped toward him, "is for all the trouble!"

The dismembered tree creaked. It cracked, and then it groaned, and Jack felt victorious as it swayed lifeless. Leaping back, he watched it topple over, watched as it fell to its fate, and turned to narrow his eyes challengingly upon the rest of the trees that had stilled in its wake. He wished Will would have been standing there beside him to witness the magnitude of such an accomplishment. The thought darkened his heart. With a low growl, he darted forward, slicing through limbs and slashing at roots all the way.

Two more towering trees toppled. The one that had cost him so dearly he circled, fending off its angry jabs as he cleaved with the sword to tear it limb from limb. Its roots, wary of the fate he was dealing the others, wriggled into the soil but did not bury deep enough. Sword swinging in one hand, he latched onto one with the other and ripped it from the ground. The tree creaked and the root writhed in his hand but he held firm and with the blade slashed through it.

"And that," he snarled, spinning 'round to chop clean through the other roots that shook from the soil and whipped towards him, "is for Will Turner!"

It was, he decided as he watched the tree's thudding to the ground, the most satisfactory toppling of all. Not because he'd made such quick work of it and not because the trees remaining took off through the jungle, but because it seemed some sort of justice for what the thing had done to his friend. A sigh rushed from his lungs as he looked up at the strangely yellow dome of sky above him. He was about to turn and find Will when a strong hand clasped his wrist.

"It is a good thing he saw it then."

"Whelp!"

"Otherwise," rasped a breathless Will, struggling to his shaky feet and treating Jack to a lopsided grin, "the stubborn fool might have never believed it happened."

Jack smiled, relief sagging through him, and he slung a supportive arm around Will. "The funny thing," he told him, leading the both of them further upstream but at a considerably slower pace, "is that I don't doubt that."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

In the tense moments that followed her accusation, Bootstrap hadn't flinched. He'd gazed up at her calm as he'd been before she'd said what she had. Though they were hazy as the rest of him, she saw his eyes darken just a bit as he put the pipe back to his mouth. Taking that as a sign that he was not going to answer her, she kicked the leg of the chair and glared down at him.

Bootstrap regarded her as he took a long, slow drag on his pipe. He took it away from his mouth and arched a brow. "Tricked, ye say?" The hazy, odorless smoke he blew up at her, and his eyes narrowed. "Tricked how?"

"Why ask me," she grit. "It was you who done it!"

"Is that so?" Bill looked skeptical as he took a puff on his pipe. He blew out a quick smoke ring and cocked his head to study her. The light of recognition dawned in his glossy eyes and his lip twitched a bit before he spoke. His voice held a hint of amusement. "And how can ye be so certain o'that, Miss Witter?"

Alice frowned. Barbossa's chuckle turned her around and she narrowed her eyes at his flickering form. It occurred to her then that Bill's was not the same. It was as hazy—she turned back to confirm such and did—but it did not fade in and out as Barbossa's did. In fact, she thought with a glance down at her own form, he looked much the same as she.

"Aye," Bootstrap said quietly, drawing her gaze back to his friendly face. "Afraid we're both in the same boat."

"Speakin' o' that," snarled Barbossa, his filthy, flickering arm grasping her about the waist and yanking her from Turner's reach, "it's come to my attention that _our_ presence be required elsewhere!" His chuckle sounded in her ear. "Apologies, Mister Turner. Don't ye worry none, now. I'll be sure to tell yer boy all about ye 'fore I'm through."

Through her struggling, Alice saw Bootstrap snap to his feet. She saw the fury twist his face. And she saw him charge determinedly toward the grinning ghost that was holding her hostage just as the cloak of darkness closed in on her once again.

When she opened her eyes, there was yellow light all around her. It was mostly silent, save for a strange whisper. Glancing about, she saw that she was standing at the overgrown entrance of a dark green cave. The cold, smooth snake writhing about her shoulders she reached down to stroke. Its hiss and flashing yellow eyes brought a slow smile to her face.

"_Jack Sparrow_ is on his way," she told it softly, admiring the foul fangs as it grinned up at her. "Get ready to strike."


	35. The Trouble with Trust

As he and Will plodded slowly along the pebbled riverbed, Jack glanced upward to ogle the sky. It was less difficult to see without the lush canopy of jungle overhead, but still a strange sight. More than slight curiosity made him squint up at the domed sky. It was the desire to know how it was that what seemed less than a bubble of light held back the solid surround of sea beyond it. Like the threads, the bubble seemed tangible. Water ran in rivulets down it. The flickering yellow sky made them green snakes writhing against a golden orb, predatory protectors of some ancient treasure waiting to strike. It was an ominous sight that seemed to Jack like something of a challenge.

"Well I'm up to it," he grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the sky. It flashed so bright back at him that he had to squint out of necessity. "Glare all you want. Doesn't change the fact I mean to find what we seek."

"Jack," Will cut in, jabbing him sharply in the injured ribs. At Jack's hiss, he winced. "Sorry."

"Sure," Jack growled, patting the whelp's shoulders, the ones flinching he knew to be bruised, to draw a similar hiss. A smarmy smile he was unable to keep from his lips. "Don't give it another thought."

Will Turner's eyes darkened and his brows drew together but his gaze left Jack's to scan ahead. Jack's followed—from one green wall of jungle to the other and between them to the riverbed that was a trail of pebbles to the rise of green rock what's base gaped open with a dark mouth of a cave. Jack's gaze narrowed. Standing against the shadows, he saw, was the pale figure of a doll of a woman—her white curls gleaming in the darkness.

"This," said Jack, "can _not_, by any stretch of imagination, be what I'd consider... '_good_'."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The commotion that the appearance of the _Swan_ caused on the other ship, Jack Sparrow's _Black Pearl_, Neris had been expecting. Upon hearing the shouts and thumps, she'd taken a wide-eyed Jack Turner by the shoulders and sat him down beside her Queen. Despite his protests—which had been stammered quite too quickly for her understanding of a one of them—she'd left him to watch over the woman and swept out on deck to join those gathering there.

Several men of the _Pearl_ were already clambering aboard—Cotton and Marty and the young helmsman. Save for his name, which was Roth, that he was of good spirit and that visions of a raven-haired beauty danced in his head—she did not know much of him. A stout sailor she knew as Gibbs was hedging over the plank set between the two ships. Anamaria, the dark beauty—indeed, with flowing hair the color of the raven's feathers—leapt onto the _Swan_ before him. Neris ignored her pointed glare. She knew the woman well enough to know that if she were to acknowledge her, the woman would pounce. In fact, she knew that if she met any one person's gaze aboard the _Swan_ she'd be reduced to a reeling mind full of their fire.

_Asmeriei_?

Neris glanced sharply aside at the priest who had dared ask such a question. _Infamei, endubitum_. Feeling the man's doubts ebb away only to feel his spirit engulfed in guilt, she softened and touched a hand to his. _No asmereo et i no toleros nun_.

_Perseipio_.

She saw in his mind that he did understand, that he knew her intentions and knew well why she could not tolerate a reeling mind. It was necessary she kept as clear a head as possible if she were to do what she meant to. It was unthinkable what might happen if she attempted such with a head full of the hate of others.

_Kautelei, karosamina._

"_Aeturnos_," she whispered, slipping between he and a pouting Isaac. She ignored the latter, and shook her head at the former. Of course she would be cautious—there was no doubting it unless she wanted to be lost to omnis oblivio. Sending out her spirit would be tiring enough. Perception had already told her that bringing her body along would be an exhausting experience.

Passing by Elizabeth, she tuned out the woman's worries for her husband. The voices raised to shouting were more difficult to ignore, however. Pausing in a step, she turned an ear toward the conversation at hand.

"I know it ain't right, ya big lout!" Anamaria was scowling, and her eyes were narrow upon the man towering over her. "But when's anythin right when Jack Sparrow's concerned?!"

"Big lout?" Samson snorted and slapped his knee. "Aye woman, a lout bigger'n ya. So shut yer 'ole if ya know what's good for ya!"

Anamaria's grip on her already folded arms tightened and she turned a tight-lipped gaze heavenward.

"Now ye listen here, Sam Samson," rasped Gibbs, red in the face and with wild blue eyes, "that's no way to speak to our Marie!" When surprised faces, Anamaria's included, turned toward the sailor his flush turned to a blush. He gulped, pawing his greying hair. "And far as I can tell it won't help none! Now, see, Marie's tellin it like it was..."

Neris chose that moment, that beat of clarity that came from Gibbs' support of his fellow sailoress, to whiten her mind to its purest. She closed her eyes thinking of the white-hot flame still flickering in her heart. And when she opened them, the _Swan _was gone and her heart leapt into her throat as she saw the one who'd lit it pacing before her.

"William."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Startled by Neris' sudden disappearance, those aboard the _Swan_ quieted and glanced about the deck for signs of the Intuit priestess. Finding none, Isaac sighed. To the priest at his side he turned. Every other gaze followed.

"Where did she go?"

The priest opened his hands to the air and spoke in a tongue no one knew but knew all the same. "I do not know."

All eyes save for those of the other priests narrowed upon him.

A nervous smile turned up the corners of his mouth but he lifted his nose nonetheless.

Isaac folded his arms. He heard the heavy steps of the great Scot clod up behind him. The other man's height and stature added to his and so he arched a brow at the wide-eyed Intuit man before him.

"Ah," the priest said, swallowing a gulp. "Ah, I remember! Yes, I... I believe she has gone, body and soul, to fix what has gone wrong."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The riverbed's trail of pebbles went sparse—the smooth stones fewer and farer between as Jack and Will neared the cave's entrance. Underfoot there was softer grey sand. For that matter, Jack could spare but a glance but he knew without looking that Will was frowning down at the strange change in landscape. His gaze, however, was narrow upon the woman standing none too far before them.

He wasn't exactly sure how it could be, or even if it truly was, but there stood Alice Witter nonetheless. She was unmistakable, really, what with those white curls and pale glow of a pallor. And that certainly was the gown he'd had made for her. But what was that swirling down about her—

"_Wait_!"

Shaken from his wondering by Will's sudden cry of alarm, and startled by the force of the man's hand that drew him back a step, Jack whipped around. Scour their surroundings for any sign of danger he did, glaring at every plant and tree he saw. To his relief each one seemed rooted to the ground and all unmoving. He sighed and turned his glare on Turner.

Will hesitated.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Well?"

"I—" Will stopped, a sheepish smile wavering the corners of his mouth. He chuckled. The laugh shook. Then his brown eyes went wide with worry. "You don't think she might've..." he trailed off to gulp, "brought Elizabeth?"

Jack frowned.

Will flushed.

"Well that would be quite the debacle, now, wouldn't it?"

Jack left Will wondering what, precisely, a 'debacle' was—though he suspected the blacksmith would give up at some point and follow after—and forged ahead. Games he'd had enough of. What sort of game Alice was playing he did not know or dare to venture guess.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The whisper on her lips she had not been able to keep from spilling over them. It was a name Neris had whispered to herself in her darkest of moments. It was a name that for all its melancholy had always lifted her spirits on high as if his spirit was throwing her a rope of light from the heavens.

William had stopped dead. His hazy shoulders tensed. Slowly, he turned to peer over one.

Neris met his gaze. She held it for a long moment. While his form didn't flicker as it should have, it did soon blur before her. Tears stung her eyes. "You are not dead!"

Tears hampered her vision too much, Neris decided. She had been about to cast them off when it was she felt the breath of a caress wiping them away. It was not the rough thumb she'd been used to, but she knew that's what he'd reached with and she smiled despite herself and the situation that they were all in. When her vision cleared, she saw close before her that which had been too far for too long.

"Thought I was."

Neris closed her eyes. So soothing was the voice that always had been that she forgot her worries. They lifted from her shoulders and she breathed a sigh of relief. When she opened her eyes, the pang in her heart flared up.

"So did we all," she said, surprised to her the accusation in her voice. She had not expected it but she could not keep it from tinging her words. "Why did you not come to prove us wrong?"

Bill's gaze fell from hers.

"Answer me," she said, anger creeping up on her. "Answer me, pirate. I will not allow you silence!"

"Oh," he said, voice full of his irritation, "stuff it, Neris! Ye've no say in my silence. It is you I owe the least of answers. Ye'll consider yerself lucky if I give a one."

Neris had known it was what he would say but the knowledge did not lessen the hurt she felt. The pang turned to an ache and she turned from him so that he would not see it. The truth was that she knew also that what he said was just. She deserved it, the pain—but so did he. "The fire in your heart, William, I did not kindle." A rush of anger swept her gaze to his, which was hard upon her, and she clenched her fists at her sides. "It was not my doing. I'll not be blamed for it!"

The brown eyes blinked. They grew bright under the haze of his spirit as he reached for her. "Then I will." With a squeeze of her shoulder—warm and strong—he turned away. "Tis only one thing on a list of wrongs so long that I can not hope to read and revise it."

"Wrongs?" Tears stung her eyes—again. She grabbed at his form and clenched fingers around his arm to turn him back towards her. Though blurry her vision was, she suspected that she'd met his gaze. "Were they all so wrong, William?"

He did not answer. His hand—a wisp of warm smoke again—went to hers. Perhaps he'd intended to pry her fingers from his arm. If so it had been only intention, for his fingers—or, more accurately, the feeling finders of his less than embodied spirit—rested between hers.

In her mind's eye flashed the image of Bootstrap's son—Will the blacksmith. Warm as his father, the young Turner was in trouble. He was in the same trouble that Captain Jack Sparrow was in.

Neris smiled sadly at her lost love. "We do not, either of us, have time for this."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

As Jack climbed the last bit of incline, he stared hard at the woman before him. By the Gods, if she'd done something to jinx his finding that sword after everything he and Will had been through—he winced. The very thought had stricken and stung at his lashed ribcage. Reaching for the spot, he grimaced. As painful as it was his hand came away unbloodied. After all he and Will had been through... after all the trouble he'd himself, Captain Jack Sparrow, gone to...

_If_, after all the trouble William Bootstrap Bill Turner's lost—and, worse yet, _sunken_—island story had caused him, Miss Alice Ice Queen(and Hag and Nag and _Shrew_ too) of the Caribbean Witter had _jinxed_ his finding that mythical sword of that _equally_ mythical Ahku Neko Neko Khar, Jack would have no choice but to throw himself _directly_ onto the point of his sword.

There would be, he determined darkly, no other option.

Stopping before her, he fixed her with a smile but spoke to Will over his shoulder. "You see, whelp? I _told_ you we were looking for Mount Doom. **_And lo_**," he shouted, fluttering hands toward Alice, "_here_ be the doom—the wench I left behind—here—to greet us!"

Will's eyes widened at Alice over Jack's shoulder. "You did not bring Elizabeth, did you?"

Ignoring the question, and the flicker of confusion that passed over Alice's face, Jack folded his arms and fixed her with his most suspicious—and least friendly—glare. "_What the devil are you doing here_?"

Alice smiled.

"If you brought Elizabeth," said Will, rushing to speak before she opened her mouth—

Jack growled, jabbing his elbow back. It poked Will in the gut. "How whipped _are_ ye, whelp?"

Will scowled and folded his own arms.

"I swear—as Neptune's me witness, mate, you're tied right to the strapping post." Feeling Will fuming behind him, Jack turned back to Alice who'd yet to speak. Such silence, he knew, was not like her. For Alice Witter to hold her tongue was nothing short of a miracle. His eyes narrowed upon hers. "You've yet to answer my question."

Alice lifted her chin. "Whoever said I should answer to you, _Jack Sparrow_?"

Well, Jack thought, that wasn't good, was it? That tone she'd taken to say his name—it was not the sort of tone that was any kind of 'good'. In fact, it sounded... hostile, no—_derisive_. There'd been only a few times he'd ever heard his name said in such a way and... none of them had ever ended up being any sort of 'good'. Actually, he thought, the only one who'd ever said his name that way—derisive and hostile and spat as though the very sound of the name bittered the tongue—was...

"Jack."

The pirate glanced at Will and followed his gaze toward the woman who'd turned and slipped through the shadowy crevice of the cave. Ducking under a hanging vine, he went after her. By all that was holy, that woman would be the death of him!

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Neris paced opposite Bootstrap, her robe flaring with every pivot back. She wrung her hands. They shook a bit. Fret she did for his son and Jack Sparrow. In the place where they were, she could not catch glimpse of anything save what was there in front of them.

"Nothing?"

With the question came a rush of her own emotions and thoughts and Neris paused, hoping for once that she would catch sight of another's. When she didn't, her shoulders sagged with a sigh. "Nothing." Her gaze flicked to his. "And you?"

"Not even a glimpse."

"It's this place," she griped, anger flaring her fire. She stomped a foot. "This godforsaken place!"

William glanced about the place. It was unlike any space he'd previously occupied. There was a strange, smooth floor. If he didn't know any better, he would say it was glass. In fact, it was so clear that if not for the fog swirling below it, they would be able to see beyond. As he took in the white walls that rose to infinity it occurred to him that perhaps the fog was better fate than being able to see past it. If William were dead, and if he were more confident of his not facing eternal condemnation and less skeptical of Barbossa's ghost deserving worser torment, by the pure white calm of the place he'd believe it to be the final peace.

"What is this place?"

"An indefinite extension of the unknown realm."

"Oh," he said, glancing about again as if he better saw the space for what it was, "well _that_ explains it."

Neris ignored him. She'd meant what she said. If there was no time for their emotions, there certainly was no time to bicker.

In the unsettling quiet, Bootstrap's gaze narrowed on her. To his eye she was the most vivid thing there. Against the pallid place she was all lovely colours and life. That reminded him—despite his immediate surroundings, he was not dead. "Get me out of here." At her skeptical look, he sighed and pointed out her fleshly form. "If ye can do _that_," he said, "I'm fairly certain ye can do anything."

"That," she seethed, "would require your willingness to tell me where, exactly, you are—something you neglected to do for nearly two decades!"

A smile playing at the corner of his mouth, William cocked his head. "Thought we hadn't the time to argue?"

Neris glared at him.

He shrugged.

"Do you," she seethed, "remember where the rest of you is?"

"How could I forget?" The sheepish smile he couldn't hold back. "It was a quest, afterall, to find Antolune."

Cussing in what sounded to be Jack's florid form of English, Neris slapped a hand to her head. With her other, she grabbed at the haze of his. There was the recitation of an incantation and then the words whispered away as she and William were whisked through the bright white stillness of time and space. To a stop they lurched. Neris felt pebbles under her knees and the warmth of a rough palm under her own. Breathless, she helped William to his feet and found that they stood in the center of an overgrown cavern. Shortly after, she found his warm, brown eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she felt that he meant it.

"As am I."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Without so much as a glance backward, Alice slipped through the rocks before her. Jack's anger got the best of him and he stormed after her into the overgrown cavern. At the far end of it, under a ledge of rock, laid a large slab of black stone. Upon it laid a sliver of glittering green.

"You found it," he breathed. His step forward was stilled by Will's hand and he turned a frown at the young Turner. It faded as he saw the whelp's white knuckles on his shoulder. From them to the stark white of Will's face to the place his gaze was fixed Jack looked. He felt his own face drain of color as he saw, standing in the middle of the cave with Neris, a man he thought he'd never see again. "William."

But the name had been whispered and so the two did not look up. In fact, the couple embraced. Jack watched, spellbound, as they shared a kiss.

"It was them all along!"

"Imagine my surprise," Alice said lightly.

Will's growl was low, but the hiss of the sword was not. Before Jack could stall him, Will Turner had pushed him aside. Just as helpless, Jack watched him stride down the slope of stone to stalk the two that had, by all appearances, tricked the two of them into almost certain death.

As the tip of Will's blade neared his father's shoulders, Bootstrap released a startled Neris and spun around. As his eyes widened, so did those of the Intuit priestess. But Jack found, much to his dismay, that her gaze was focused upon he and Alice Witter.

"**_Look out_**!"

A hiss punctuated her warning. Jack leapt away from it. Aghast, he gazed down at the snake—the very big snake—coiling about Alice Witter's feet.

"Have you a new pet, love?"

Alice chuckled then, a sinister sound that did not seem to fit her. Jack took another step back, very nearly falling off the edge of the rock he stood on. His gaze followed the woman's down to the snake. It wound up her legs and around her waist. She held out a hand. It slithered up her arm and behind her neck to drape her shoulders.

"I do," she said, smiling as the thing slipped down her other arm. "An' I think," she said, lifting her ringed—there it was, the ring Jack had lost—hand where rested the head of the snake, "he is my very favorite. I think we'll be gettin' along just fine." Its yellow eyes flashed as surely as hers, grey, glowed golden. "Hector and I."

Then the hiss that Jack heard was his own.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

_**Author's Babble**: As for the Intuition here... to Neris' thoughts of those aboard the Swan fixing her with their anger he priest says '**asmeriei**?' meaning 'do you deserve(merit) it?' The high priestess then shames him '**infamei, endubitum**'—'shame on you, doubter.' She goes on to say '**no asmereo et i no toleros nun.**' That means 'I do not deserve(merit) it, and I won't tolerate it now.' The mention of 'now' regards her plans for the moment—feeling the others' anger will not serve her in her quest to go body and spirit to figure out what is happening. The priest understands, or perceives this, and so says '**perseipio**' and then '**kautelei, karosamina**.' The latter means 'take care, my precious.' To that Neris responds '**aeturnos**' which means '(I)always(do).' After that she does not really say anything but thinks her being careful goes without saying as if she isn't careful she might be lost to '**omnis oblivio**'—'all oblivion.' All of this is a loose!!! mixture of Greek and Latin that has been tweaked to my personal liking. There is, however, a form to everything the Intuits have said, including earlier parts of the story. Some of you may have noticed the '-ei' suffix, or the '-o' and '-os'. They're not random. As Elizabeth would say, I do not give my words lightly._


	36. Threads of Fate

Darkness surrounding them, Isaac and the rest aboard the _Swan_ crowded around the Intuit who claimed he knew no more than what he'd already told them. They were skeptical, Gibbs in particular. Samson, though, seemed to believe the sliver of man cowering before him.

"Right," he said, scratching at his jaw, "just y'tell us if'n ye catch a glimpse o' something strange, aye?"

It was at that moment that a great bolt of gold struck up from the pitch black of the sea before them. In all their eyes it flashed. Silver shot through it and shone down upon them.

Samson glowered at the shame-shaken man. "Preferably 'fore it happens," he clarified.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

There was a surge of emotion and Neris felt it all. Swirling indigo tethered she and William to the spot they stood, both eyes wide upon his son advancing with Mack McGregor's fine sword in hand. It flashed silver. Will Turner's usually warm eyes were cold with suspicion and Neris could not look away—until a screaming shock of crimson blasted the cave with sparks of red rage. The Sparrow's black fury shot from his eyes. A streak of molten gold struck at him. Cold death sliced through him but it was white hot hate that hissed from his lips.

The snake sneered at him.

"Of all the ghosts," Jack growled, "of all the pernicious poltergeists that could've played tricks—and it had to be _you_!"

Barbossa's laughter was low. His smug smile tugged Alice's lips up. "Oh Jack," she said in a voice that wasn't her own, "didn't ye miss me?"

"In your case," said Jack, "even absence does not make the heart grow fonder."

It was Barbossa's grunt of displeasure and his strength behind the small fist that struck Jack's face.

Neris felt the sound pierce William's son with a prickle of cold fear for Jack. It was the overwhelming warmth for the pirate that convinced him to make haste. "You," he said, wielding his weapon warningly at the priestess and his father, "the both of you! Where do you stand?"

William's stare was just as hard on Will.

Dizzied by the array of sense and colour, Neris swayed with it and fought for her bearings. Hope was fast draining. Too loud was the cacophony of chaos—

"Right here," said the father, that smoky voice resonant above all else, "with you."

The son's glow levelled Neris in lavendar. Clarity had returned. "_Serpensei_."

Both Turners turned to follow her gaze.

The whispered word seemed to send the serpent forward. It was in a blink of the snake's eyes that the thing looped about Jack. It drew itself tight about his ribs and squeezed the tender flesh that had already been bruised but the pain was nothing as compared to the cold of that coiling. Neris felt Jack's horror and was, herself, reduced to silent shivers.

Jack, for his part, had no choice other than watch Barbossa's sneer mar the lovely little face of Alice Witter.

"Jack," sang the woman's voice in a tone that wasn't hers, "I hate to have to say this, but… I think I might _like_ you this way." A brow's arch later, she gave a quick little grin. "I think I might like all of your faithful friends this way."

Neris felt the earth slip from under the heels of Jack's boots before she saw him whipped out over the rocks. Her eyes went wide but she, like Jack, could not move nor whisper warning to the Turners. She watched, dumbstruck, as the serpent swirled around them. Revulsion shuddered through Neris as cold scales circled her waist and spun her, and the Turners, close to Jack.

Crushed together, the four of them.

Even if they were not clenched in the chill of death, Jack's gaze, which had shot sideways to the long lost man at his side, would have been just as haunted. The Intuit priestess knew this as much as she knew the guilt of it weakened William's knees. Neris knew that as much as she knew that those weaknesses were what the serpent had preyed upon—she knew it through the snake's very scales.

A cackle cut through the cave.

"Neris has something she would like to tell you," called Alice in a falsetto that was unnaturually gritty, "but she's a bit tied up at the moment so I s'pose that leaves the telling of the tale to me."

Bootstrap, seemingly the least affected, took a great gasp of breath that knocked his shoulder into Jack's. He ignored the pirate's squeak of contempt and glared instead up at the small form picking its way easily down over the rocky incline. "Well ye've got our attention!" He gasped again, for breath, and winced at the effort and effect of it—the serpent, happier none for the man's strength, squeezed tighter. But William would not be silenced, it seemed. "D'ye intend to tell the tale, or d'ye prefer our fishing it from ye?

Jack Sparrow, for all his horror, tried to laugh at that, but the small spark of humor faded fast from his eyes as he saw what was approaching.

Every slow step toward them saw Alice Witter uglied more with Barbossa's likeness—from the thickening of her neck to the crinkling of her skin. A pace away and the figure had changed form—save for two minor discrepancies. Barbossa paused then and his gaze fell upon his bosom. One weathered hand lifted to pat fondly the curves that had yet to flatten. Content sighed from the mutinous first mate and then he chuckled. "Almost sad to see them go," he confided in Jack.

If he had the time, and control of his throat, Jack would have gagged.

Wherever she was, Alice Witter was not pleased. In fact, she was probably downright infuriated, for Barbossa's arm took the shape of her own and then it was her hand that slapped his face.

It was enough to stun him. He gaped at the hand that wrinkled into his own. Even the snake had been startled—the vicelike grip on Jack loosening a little—if only to allow him a breath of air.

"You," he choked out, "bloody well deserved that!"

Barbossa recovered, yellow eyes turned to slits at Jack. He hissed, as did the serpent, and knocked Jack in the jaw. "Shut up," he spat, dodging a kick from Bootstrap. He took a step back beyond their reach and surveyed the four of them—Jack grimacing, Turners glaring, and Neris glowering. A low chuckle sounded from his throat. "Aye," he said, lips curling up in the smuggest of smiles, "I'm most fond of the lot of ye lookin just so. Makes ye almost… _tolerable_."

Bootstrap grumbled.

"Ah, Bill Turner," Barbossa breathed, gaze flicking to the man, "thought sure I'd ne'er see ye breathin' 'gain. Can't say I'm too pleased, _Bootstrap_, but leastways ye're in the same predicament—all tied up."

Will Turner growled.

"And young Mister Turner," Barbossa said, eyes yet boring into Bootstrap's, "_still_ a fatherless—and foolish—lad. I'd pity ye," he said, sympathy saddening his voice too much for it to be counted sincere, "but as 'tis, I cannot quite forget the last time I stood so close to ye…" It was then that his eyes turned to the younger Turner, and they narrowed considerably. "And I've yet to forgive ye as well."

There was a flash of green. The serpent, who'd looped about their middles, had darted a circle about their shoulders. Its flat head rose above them and when its jaw unhinged, it gave a great hiss and drew them in tighter.

Jack Sparrow gasped. Thrice bound by the snake's body, every new tug tight was more the pressure upon his cracking ribs. Once more, he and Neris knew, and those bones would be but crushed to dust.

Barbossa cracked a grin. "Comfortable, Jack?"

What was left of the snake slithered through the air in an arc. Around Barbossa's shoulder it peered at Jack. Its mouth opened wide in a terrible, fanged smile.

"S'pose not," Barbossa said with a shrug. "I'd ask if ye want the long or short of it, but as 'tis ye have no choice." His fingers went to his grizzly beard, the ring on his finger flashing. Its great smoky gem gleamed silver. "S'up to me, in'nit? Let's see…" He stroked his chin in thought, yellow eyes glazing over. "Shall we start at the beginnin? Or how 'bout skippin right to the bitter end of what was to be the rest of me life?" Those yellow eyes flashed at Jack. The ringed finger poked the pirate in the nose. "When ye shot me through the heart, Jack Sparrow, and ye, Will Turner, made me _bleed_?"

Snake eyes narrowed on Will and William's eyes widened. The serpent hissed. It lunged for the younger Turner but lurched as the older Turner sprang up on his toes and caught its cold scales between his teeth. Nose to nose with Will the serpent was, and its forked tongue flicking from side to side but it could not strike. With a frustrated hiss, it writhed in William's mouth and sent its thick tail whipping.

Neris caught the slap. It knocked her into William who was knocked into a yelping Jack. The pirate's eyes popped wide as the serpent shot out of William's mouth and toward the whelp. Past the pain, Jack whipped his heavy head of hair at the snake. Locks snapped toward it. One sharp bauble pierced scales. The serpent gave a hiss of pain and Neris breathed a sigh of relief as it seemed to lose its focus. As it reared around, however, she gasped.

Jack, however, seemed to have expected the reaction and so, with no other option, simply glared at it as it struck at him.

William was faster this time—he caught the snake just behind its head and bit down. Black blood streamed down his chin and made slippery the squirming serpent but he did not relinquish his hold on it. He growled and grit his teeth harder around the cold-blooded coiler.

Barbossa moved forward and wrenched the serpent away, seeming not to care that William's teeth ripped it open along its scales. He grumbled. "Would ye knock it off?" With a grip on it, he glared into its golden eyes. "Ye're stealin my thunder and I don't fancy thieves."

William snorted. "Don't fancy yerself much then, do ye?"

"Shut up," Barbossa spat at him. His beringed hand waved angrily, and the snake waved with it. Its eyes boggled and narrowed but Barbossa didn't notice. "I don't fancy _other_ thieves."

"Well," said William, "that makes two of us. And I believe that ring on yer finger b'longs to Jack."

Barbossa glowered over him. "And how would ye know, William Turner?"

William shrugged. "Bit intuitive, ye could say. Always have been." He winked at him. "Could've told ye all those years ago that that treasure was cursed." His smile faded to a glare. "I just did'n want to."

"Hold yer tongue or I'll hold it for ye," Barbossa snarled. He pointed his finger first at William and then at the rest of them. "That goes fer the lot of ye! Any one of ye speaks while I'm speakin and I'll lash the words outta yer mouth!"

Neris watched as Barbossa skulked around them. In his hand was clenched the serpent, but he, Barbossa, did not seem to notice its writhing, nor the way that the gem in his—Jack's—ring shone silver. He did not notice as Neris did that the flowers of fate responded with fire of their own. Pressed to her side, she felt their responding flash though she could not see the shimmer of the gems.

"Twas so cold when ye shot me, Jack," Barbossa said, pausing beside his breathless nemesis to lay the gnarled hand that was free upon Jack's shoulder. "Ye can't imagine." Shaking his head, Barbossa turned on his heel. His hands clasped behind him and the snake twisted, struggling, in the one of them. "Death made no haste as it crept upon me and the hellfires, well, they could not wait to engulf my soul. But I, oh I resisted. _Not till Jack Sparrow's made to come with me_, I told them. And do ye know, they listened?" He spun around, eyes blazing, and advanced on the pirate. "Do ye know, Jack Sparrow, how difficult it was to find yer long lost friend?"

William's dark eyes glinted dangerously, but he did not move to speak.

Barbossa raised his brows. "Not very. But then, it wasn't me he was hiding from." As Jack cast a dark glance in the other man's direction, a smug smile stretched Barbossa's face. "Aye, it seems he was not so far from ye this whole time. But then, _how_ could ye have _known_?"

As the villain's gaze landed upon her, Neris felt her anger, and that of Jack and Will, flare. She glared first at William and then at Barbossa. "I did not know!"

William had the grace to sink in guilt, but Barbossa only laughed. "And ye call yerself an Intuit."

"You," she grit at him, "know nothing!"

Amusement glinted in his yellow eyes as he took in the glare of hers, and the burning hatred in Will's. "Ne'er claimed to be a seer, myself."

"I claim only what I am!"

"She did not know."

William's whisper brought a new, cruel smile to Barbossa's face. He took a few slow steps toward the guilt-ridden man and stopped directly before him. "Didn't she now?"

"I hid it from her," William confessed, "same as I hid the curse from you. Same as I hid from Jack—and from my own son." How he did not falter under the return of Will's wrath, Neris did not know. "_And this nonsense is why_!"

Barbossa shook his head sadly. "Can't e'er do right, can ye, William Turner?"

"No," he muttered darkly.

"No, ye can't," Barbossa agreed. "Much as ye try, something always goes terribly, terribly wrong. Doesn't it?"

William's gaze had fallen to the toes of his brown boots. "Yes."

"Thought as much," Barbossa said, quite cheerful. "Which is why ye were the perfect pawn. The Trouble was all up to ye, William Turner. I barely had to lift a finger." He chuckled. "Just the essence o'yer soul for a time." He shuddered. "Now _that_—that was nigh insufferable!" He turned back to Jack. "Ye see, Jack… William Turner, here, was alive and well this entire time. How he escaped my shackles I might ne'er know—but the fact is that when I denied the fires of hell for the sake of bringing ye with me, they whispered to me a strange, strange name."

"Tetetuzu," Neris spat.

Barbossa smiled. "Aye, _Tetetuzu_, they whispered. _Seek him_. And so I did. T'was Tetetuzu who told me all I needed to know of William Turner. T'was Tetetuzu who told me all I needed to know to get ye here, Jack, on the road to hell. But first, I had to find what he could not." Barbossa's face darkened. "Do ye know how difficult t'was to _find_ this blasted, sunken island?" He flicked the beringed hand in the air. "Years, it took. Years of searching the entrails of the earth, years of nothing but wanderlust and revenge burning a hole in my soul, and the only relief the occasional haunting of your dreaded dreams!"

Jack shivered.

"Do ye know, Jack Sparrow, how difficult t'was for me to wait for this moment?"

Jack shuddered.

"But it was worth it," Barbossa said, anger fading to amusement. "Worth it to trouble ye, worth it to trouble William Turner—worth it to sink in his festering soul just to finish that game, just to toy with his boy—worth it to stand here at the end of the road to hell!" He took a step closer to Jack and grinned. "We'll be going soon."

"_Silence_!"

All of Barbossa's raving had caused him to lose grip on the serpent. It twisted free of his hands. Eyes glowering, it writhed around to face him, turning its back on the three wide-eyed men and one glaring woman yet trapped in its cold coils.

"_Sufferable fool_," it seethed, "_if I wish to steal your thunder I shall steal it without consequence_!"

A golden thread shot from its mouth to strike Barbossa. It stunned him silent. Then it sucked him into the unhinging jaw of the serpent and he was gone.

"That," said the serpent in a satisfied sort of way, "is much better."

"Tetetuzu?"

It loosed its grip only slightly to whip around and glare at William.

"Do not make the mistake," it said, "of believing I am on _your_ side."

Jack, who was already quite pale, paled all the more—for the serpent's jaw was unhinging before him. It opened wide and stretched to form green jowls. Its face receded. Features formed as it did until what was left was a scowling, human head.

"You," it spat, golden lightning bolting from its eyes, "who would restore the order. You, who would return the sword to Ahku Khar!"

Jack, having regained a bit of his breath, wheezed. "_Neko Neko_."

"Great Great," Will Turner clarified. "You forgot."

"Believers," scoffed Tetetuzu, whose thick neck and broad shoulders were forming, "the worst kind of foe by far if only because of their insufferable stupidity." He paused to admire the rippling muscles of his own torso, then turned disdain upon them. "Ahku Khar was once _neko neko_, yes. But no longer. What made him great lies in that glittering green sword—what made him so great will momentarily be what makes me greater."

Split from the snake, whose yellow eyes were now undoubtedly Hector Barbossa's, the glowering God stepped away from them and strode toward the One Great Great God's sword. With a hiss, Hector sliced after him, spinning the four trapped in circles. Neris fell into Will Turner, who threw her off and pushed a stumbling William away. Jack, who was the last free, collapsed gasping for air. Neris reached for him, but her hand was stilled as out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of silver.

Jack's ring had fallen off the tip of Hector's tail. It lay, forgotten, amongst the grey rocks. The gem shone.

Neris snatched it. She shoved it on her finger. The rest of the cavern was only a whirl of colour and sound as she turned to Will and wrenched the sword—the flowers of _her_ fate—from his grasp.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Though the priest swore he knew nothing of the silver or gold, Isaac's blue eyes darkened with visions of Alice Witter lost between light and Jack Sparrow lost to the dark. His hand turned into a fist but he did not advance on the gaunt man before them. He might have, had a great silver beam not shot up out of the water beyond the Intuit. There was an audible gasp—pirates and sailors and Intuits alike—and a shuffle on each deck as all turned to stare out, startled by the sudden light in the dark.

Two priests rushed forward to the side of their shaken man as Isaac strode past him to the railing of the _Swan_. Elizabeth Turner was on his heels. Were it not for the railing, he thought she might have rushed right off deck and into the darkness below.

"We must find out what it is!"

Ignoring her, Isaac gazed out at the strand of silver reaching into the black sky. Behind him he heard Samson trying to becalm the crew with booming bellows of reassurances. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Anamaria pop the big man in the jaw and Gibbs scramble to break the two apart. Wincing, Isaac turned back to the strange sight before them. His blue eyes filled with it, and with the silver thread shone hope.

"Maybe," he said softly, "it is one of those threads of fate."


	37. Tied Together

Tetetuzu, who was a tower of terror taller than perhaps two men, cut a quick path across the cavern despite the foliage in his way. Vines shrieked and shriveled away as he passed under them. Roots ripped themselves from the soil his steps touched, plantlife sending shards of limb and shreds of leaves into the air. As the scowling deity took hold of one sapling that had not been quick enough, Jack Sparrow watched the scrawny plant wither instantly, watched the other plants its roots tangled with scatter to wreak chaotic havoc on the vines, and saw that all of them died.

A sneer lifted Tetetuzu's lips as he tossed the dead cask aside. With a shake of his broad shoulders, he turned to gaze upon the flat black rock where lay the One Great Great God's sword. Its glorious green glitter filled his golden eyes with greed and he strode toward it.

Hector hissed, his own yellow eyes full of emerald fire. He sliced between Tetetuzu's feet, tip of the serpent's tail lashing an ankle. The God of Chaos snarled and reached down with an immense fist to grab at Hector, but the snake was faster. It slipped out of his reach and slithered unheeded toward the rock upon which it coiled happily.

Tetetuzu opened his mouth and let loose a shout that shook the earth. It rumbled through the cavern, stretching on and on but somehow giving speed to his stride. Hector, paying this no heed, gave a great fanged grin and moved to strike. Tetetuzu grabbed the startled serpent by the flat head and tossed it, hissing and spitting, over his head.

To Jack's great dismay, the snake landed in front of him, its cold tail thwacking him across the jaw. Thinking it an opportune moment, and wanting very much for Hector to writhe for mercy in his grasp, Jack reached for the snake. A rougher hand beat his to it, however, and Jack looked up to find William standing over him, Hector seized in an iron fist.

"Oh, aye," said William, fire flashing in his eyes as he brought Hector up to glare into his serpentine face, "I think I might actually like _you_ this way, Barbossa."

Jack blinked and turned a wary eye upon the man's strangely silent son. A flash of silver caught out of the corner of his eye whipped his head around to stare after the Intuit priestess streaking toward Tetetuzu. "_Neris!_"

Both Turners turned, son staring and father giving a startled gasp.

Neris, robes snapping sparks of colour in the air, was a vision. Long black hair streamed behind her and the fine sword of Mack McGregor shimmered at her side. Still running, Neris hefted the silver blade. She was a pace away from Tetetuzu, whose fat fingers were gripping the golden pommel. Green flames flickered to life and a spectrum of light swirled brilliant in the orb atop it.

"_Nai prosperei, Tetetuzu!_" Neris' warcry soared through the cavern. "_Amnesei!_"

With a flick of her wrist, the priestess heaved the glowing flowers of fate at his scowl. Jowls wide, he was cleaved to the rock. Cacophony resounded in the cavern, but three falsetto voices, from somewhere faroff perhaps, wove through it. Golden eyes turned grey and the immense figure turned to dust. It swirled, thickening the air with its darkness. There was a flash of purple, and a shimmer of black, and then the air cleared.

Tetetuzu and Neris were gone.

- () -

"_Blessed Saint Bartholomew,_" breathed Gibbs.

Samson, who'd only just been shouting at the lot of the rest to settle themselves, fell hard upon his knee as beyond the two vessels _Pearl _and _Swan_ shot great silver beams from the darkness. Threads they were, twisting and knotting together to link toward the heavens where behind two great dark clouds the moon shone brightly. It shimmered, as did the woven, silver chain, and three wisps of divine light fluttered in and out the fancy sterling knotwork. There carried on the sudden soft breeze a soothing trio of falsetto voices, and a sweet incantation of Intuition.

_Destineo prosperi_.

Beside him, Samson heard two priests' cries of joy.

The third, the one that he'd been upon for answers, exhaled softly. "Fortua accomplei, karosamina." At Samson he smiled. "She has fulfilled her destiny."

Gibbs, who had not been far off, took a hearty slug from his flask. "That be the song of the sisters three then," he spluttered, raking a hand through his unkempt, greying locks. "And what a sweet song it is."

But none of them had the time to listen to that song, as both ships shifted with the rippling waters. The dark sea was not smooth as glass, nor was it choppy. It seemed to swell a bit, and then ebb away, lifting and settling the _Pearl _and the _Swan_ with the gentlest of ease.

Sharp heels tapped quickly across the deck and Isaac Faust, followed by Elizabeth Turner, made to leap onto the rail of the _Swan_. Samson, muttering as many curses his spirited mum had taught him, stopped the lad with one finger. He caught Missus Turner by the plait of her hair. Neither seemed to notice much.

"_Incredible_," Isaac breathed.

Elizabeth, speechless, nodded her assent.

Past the rail, and beyond that of the _Black Pearl_, a brilliant flash of colour swirled around the three sister wisps. They seemed to merge for a moment and then the spectrum painted the sea. Only for a moment was the water awash in colour. It faded back to an inkish black, and then reflected the silver shimmer of woven moonbeams. There was utter silence and then a whisper of waves and under the moonlight there broke through the sea a silver peak.

All eyes watched, unable not to, as before them rose from the sea a steep incline of silver rock. Samson near fainted when followed shuddering treetops and shivering palm fronds. He watched, spellbound, as the earth rose up out of the water, as the water rushed from the earth before them but seeped quietly back to sea. Precious moments later and he was gazing at a curving beach of silver sand and an island that lay beyond it.

Anamaria found her voice before any of the rest of them did. "Only you, Sparrow, ya mad imbecile."

- () -

Before any of the three men—William, Will, or Jack—could step a foot forth, there rose the falsetto of voices three accompanied by a hushed whisper of Intuition. Jack heard William's sad sigh but chose to ignore it, turning his dismay instead to the man's son. Will, however, was gazing steadfastly ahead.

As if it had never been touched, the glittering blade of emerald ice _topped_ with a golden handle _topped_ with a glowing orb of infinite wisdom lay upon the flat black rock. It glittered as from above came a whirling spectrum of light. Reds and golds cooled to greens and blues and simmered to a faint indigo hue. Purple seeped in, bled to lavendar, and three wisps of silver seperated from it. They took the shape of three lithe ladies, each connected to the other as though woven together by the light of the divine. Lavendar ebbed between them and from it their spindly fingers wove the shape of a man. The sisters three made fast work of it, their singing fading away, and the spectre of a man who swayed gracefully from their grasp looked most grateful for their fastidiousness.

"Ah, yes," said the resplendant one, admiring the loveliness of his fluttering, translucent hand, "that's much better." He turned toward the ladies, presumably to thank them, and a smile curled his lips in a most familiar way as he flourished forth praise on his fingertips. "Astounding work. Amazing. Brilliant, I should think. I thank thee ladies for thine fine accomplishment—restoring one Great Great God to his former glory."

Indeed, the silver-haired man was a vision draped in a shimmering black robe. It swirled about him as he strolled lazy circles around the three sisters. It snapped, though, as he came to an abrupt stop and then it stilled. Bright black eyes agleam with what was either madness or brilliance—hard telling which—he leaned back, lithe and limber as a cat, and lifted the emerald sword.

From the orb behind him, one flash of colour zinged at his head. A small, blue gem appeared fixed over one, silver brow and he winced a bit. "_Ouch!_"

William, still holding Hector hostage, muttered disbelief under his breath.

Jack arched a brow.

"Verthandi," said the glorious one, one hand rubbing at the offending spot as he strolled too close to the center sister, "darling, it's been…" Three more flashes of colour chose that moment to dart at his face, each one effecting a wince from him. As he was grumbling over the last, two more colours, these bursts of it, spat upon his brow. Uttering what sounded like a curse, his black eyes rolled up to glare at the two large amethysts and down to glint at the girl. "Well, it has simply been too long a time."

"But Ahku," she whispered, clear eyes sparkling just a bit, "there is no time like the present."

"Yes," said the older woman on the left, "the distance between us now lies in the past."

Both sisters and Ahku Neko Neko Khar looked to the youngest sister. To the right of Verthandi she stood, arms over her chest. Lips set in the smallest of pouts, she did not speak.

"_Skuld_." Ahku folded his arms to face her, lifting just one brow. "Do not tell me that Urd and Verthandi have more to say on the matter than the sister who should have the most to say, for I shall never believe it!"

"Fine," she snipped, lifting her chin just a bit. "Suppose we shall see what happens when it happens."

"That really is the best way," Verthandi agreed.

Ahku Neko Neko Khar looked as if he were about to suggest another way when it was that the last spot of colour flit at his head. Behind him, the orb went dim and the emerald sword crumbled to a pile of gems. Not one beat did he miss—his translucent form turned solid and he turned on his heel to face William, Will, and Jack.

A big, round moonstone shone from the spot between his silver brows.

"I welcome the three of you to my most humble abode." His embellished brows rose and he shot a dark glance at the plants still cowering away from where Tetetuzu had only just been. "And I must apologize for the behavior of my protectorates—if that's what one would call a pack of plants silly enough to have rooted up and run from the very evil they were to stand up against."

All of the palms and plants drooped, dismal in their defeat, and Ahku Neko Neko Khar sighed as they bowed humbly before him. Jack took the moment to study the man who seemed oddly familiar. Odd because the man was so very different from any men Jack had ever seen, and fairly lovely as well—Ahku had a smooth forehead, chiseled cheekbones, long straight nose, and full lips under a silver mustache. Both ends of that mustache were long, silver strands spilling down his jaw and swaying with every movement. Above his slight chin sat a round, smoky gem. Silver mist swirled within it, shining as much as his black eyes, lined in silver, did.

"Reminds me of someone," Jack muttered to Will whose snort drew his attention from Ahku. He frowned. "What?"

Will's mouth twitched but he didn't answer. He looked instead at the smirking Ahku Neko Neko Khar and his brows snapped together. "Those trees of yours nearly killed us."

"Nearly," Ahku agreed, flicking a hand in the air. "But not quite—which I do think is more the matter."

"More the matter!" William's brows mirrored his son's. "There's no matter that matters more than life."

"And," Will muttered aside to his father, "you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Ahku regarded father and son warily.

Jack, sharing the One Great Great God's weariness, sighed. "Might I—"

"I do know about it," William said, voice low, "and I have known about it since the day ye were born."

Jack frowned. "William—"

"If my life mattered so much to you," Will seethed, "then why is it you did not seek to warn me that Barbossa might take it?"

Jack's own brows snapped together. "Will—"

"Gentlemen," said Ahku, "it occurs to me that perhaps you may have forgotten that this is neither the time nor the place—"

"_Nobody asked you_!"

Both Turners had shouted the same. They regarded each other warily, Jack glancing between them. He rolled his eyes. The sisters, all three, giggled. Blushing to the roots of his hair, Ahku folded his arms o'er his chest and bit his lips together. "Well, there is no call for rudene—"

"Scuse me," Jack cut in, waving his hands in hopes of gaining _someone's_ attention, "but we seem to be missing something of ours." Noting that this quieted both father and son, Jack stopped waving his hands and folded them together upon his acheing ribs. "Two somethings. Some things precious as life, as it were."

The One Great Great God raised his brows.

Jack raised his.

"Intuit priestess, _lovely_ woman, comes up to about," Ahku pointed to his shoulder, "here, called Neris, loved someone lost but appears now to be lost herself?"

With a sidelong glance at the suddenly sad-eyed William, Jack nodded.

Ahku turned and began to pace, glaring at the cavern floor. Urd and Verthandi sighed and looked expectantly at Skuld. The youngest sister sniffed and turned away from them. With her pout came Ahku's triumphant shout.

"_Beautiful!_" The deity swooped low to pluck at the ground and came up with a dark orb in the palm of his hand. "Rarest of rare pearls, this." Swaying slightly with the effort of staring at the thing and making his way towards them, Ahku went on. "A black pearl of intuition she is and beautiful, just _lovely_."

As Ahku placed the heavy, warm pearl in his hand, Jack heard a whisper of Neris' voice. Startled, he dropped it. Grateful he was for Ahku's quick reflexes—the deity did not move but shot a hand out just in time to catch the gem in the palm of his hand. Jack steepled his hands together, quite sorry, and nodded as a dismayed Ahku took Hector and placed the pearl in William's more capable hands.

It glowed, an aura of purple surrounding it.

"You will carry it out," Ahku said.

William, sad though he looked, nodded. "I will."

"Good," said Ahku. He whirled back to face Jack, whipping Hector wildly as he spoke fast. "And a rather cold, slightly unpleasant, but nice-once-you-get-to-know her sort?"

Jack, choosing to ignore Will's chuckle, nodded.

Ahku lifted a finger to the smoky gem in the center of his forehead. With the slightest touch its swirling fog solidified silver. A spark of gold flashed and he jerked his hand away as if he'd been burned. "I _hate_ it when that happens."

- () -

"Think we should… put into port?"

Samson and Anamaria eyed Isaac as though he were as daft as they believed Jack Sparrow to be. They exchanged glances. Then, they laughed.

"I think we should."

It was an assertive Elizabeth who strode forward, nightrobe snapping. Her glance between the Scot and the woman pirate flashed with fire. The two captains' glances, this time, were wary.

Isaac, grateful for her support, took her hand and squeezed it. The gesture earned him a small smile. Despite the slight quirk of her lips, he saw upon Missus Turner's face that she was yet as worried for her husband as he was for Jack and Alice.

"_And I,_" shrilled an outraged voice "_insist upon it!_"

There was a great shuffling on deck as the group turned to find a fuming Alice Witter storming from the captain's quarters. Wild white curls sprang from her head and her eyes were white-hot with madness. Jack Turner trailed behind, dragging his reluctant sister along, looking the most apologetic perhaps anyone had ever seen him look.

Alice, balling her hands into fists as she stumbled into the center of the circle, turned her face up to the air in frustration and shrieked. Everyone fell back, startled, and cast a suspicious look upon her. Her own eyes widened with disbelief and disgust. "_Barbossa kissed me!_" As shock registered upon the faces of the others, anger twisted hers. "And it's all _his_ fault!"

At this, the rest of them exchanged bewildered glances.

"_Jack,_" Alice growled and stomped her foot. "That half-baked, harebrained, ill-considered, crazy cockamamie _cuckoo_ of a man who is _on_ that island!" She grabbed a fistful of Samson's shirt and tugged him down to glare up into his blinking eyes. "That island that _you're_ going to take us to, Sam Samson!"

"Aye lady," he agreed easily, "right quick!"

- () -

"I believe that leaves…" A ghost of a grin on his face, Ahku brought Hector up to glare into his crossed, yellow eyes. "_You,_" he said quietly, "have caused quite a stir, Hector, made much trouble. Sought to aid Tetetuzu in his quest to ruin the universe. Stole a man's spirit to bait his loved ones…" In a tongue more ancient than even Intuition, Ahku hissed a soft incantation. The amethysts upon his brow sparked at the serpent who shed its skin and left Ahku grasping Barbossa's flickering form about the neck. "What have you to say for yourself?"

Barbossa's yellow eyes still crossed, he frowned up at the strange man. "Who's askin?"

A feral grin lifted Ahku Neko Neko Khar's lip, revealing a brilliant flash of white. "One great, great God."

Hearing this, Barbossa snapped to attention, his gaze narrowing instantly. "_You!_" Something akin to disgust twisted his face. "You're the One Great, Great God!"

"Rich, in'nit?"

Jack passed a glance at William, not quite certain why this seemed to vex the either of them so. He found Will's wary gaze switching between himself and Ahku, and he frowned. "What?"

Ahku, seemingly as baffled, shrugged. "I am," he told Barbossa.

"Well," Barbossa growled, "seems to me ye've got yer wits back, and that it's me ye have to thank for it. If not fer my trouble, ye'd be senseless still."

Ahku frowned. His eyes rolled heavenward as he considered what Barbossa had said. At long last he nodded, but for only a smidge of a second. "But," he said slowly, one finger in the air, "you, Hector Barbossa, intended differently."

"No—"

"Yes ye did," William cut in.

Barbossa's yellow eyes widened. "No—"

"Yes you did," Will said.

"No—"

"Oh," Jack said, losing all remnants of patience, "yes you bloody did, Barbossa. Neko Neko or not, any fool's wise enough to your lechery than to believe the words out of your mouth."

"_Shut up, Jack Sparrow_," hissed Hector Barbossa, "yer lucky I didn't get my way, else it would have been ye smited to hell! It would have been ye caged and tethered to the eternal flame! It would have been ye—"

"Oh, spare us the rhetoric," cried Ahku. His face contorted with disgust as he held the struggling, flickering ghost up to Jack. "You," he said, gagging a bit, "you're accustomed to him. You do it."

Jack raised his brows first at the hissing Barbossa, whose yellow eyes were slits, and then at Ahku Neko Neko Khar, whose bright eyes were pleading with him. "Do what?"

"Smite him," said Ahku. "Smite the blighter."

"Are you mad," asked William. "Jack can't smite none!"

"He can," said Akhu, "if I say he can."

A feral grin—just as dazzling as Ahku's he imagined—lifted one corner of Jack's mouth as he took hold of the cold figure that felt as much as nothing in his hands. "Did you hear that Barbossa?" All the taunts that he'd thought had been nightmares of his own haunted head came back to him, every last one. "It'll be _you_ taking that trip to hell… all by your onesies." And he couldn't help but think of the ten years he'd suffered without his beloved _Pearl_… "_Best pray._"

"Spare me," Barbossa spat.

"No," said Jack, "I'm afraid not."

With that, he did something for a reason he could not comprehend—he bent close to the glowering ghost of Barbossa, he looked him in the narrow eyes, and he blew his breath into them. There was a split-second of strange silence and then the soul-sucking sound of a hellish eternity as Barbossa's ghost shuddered. It faded from sight.

"To hell with ye," Jack agreed.

"Yes," said Ahku, "he was most unpleasant, Hector Barbossa. May his soul writhe in unrest with the unending torments of all hell."

There was, Jack realized, a comforting finality in hearing those words uttered by a deity referred to as the One Great Great God. He closed his eyes to savor the absence of Barbossa's troublesome presence. Quiet peace reigned.

"What reason have you for hating him?" It was William, the voice of reason, who spoke. "Afterall, he spoke the truth for once—were it not for him you may not have had your glory restored to you."

"Perhaps." Ahku smiled at him and then at Urd. "And perhaps not."

"Honestly," Verthandi sighed, ignoring Skuld's giggle and Urd's glare. "Does it matter how things came to be so long as all is once again well?"

"Yes," said Will, his glance at his father not missed by Jack, "it does matter."

Urd, looking very much to be pleased by this assertion, smiled sweetly before she opened her mouth to speak. Verthandi had other ideas, however. She reached over and pinched her older sister's lips together.

Urd glared.

"Very well," the middle sister said, "but don't dwell."

- () -

True to his word, Sam Samson had led the ships into the harbor of the island that had risen from the waters. Two of the priests had assured him all would be well. The third, who'd been bullied, refused to speak. He stood apart from his Intuit brethren, gangly arms folded stiffly o'er his chest. Even when the parties, priests included, made to disembark did he refuse to move. In the end Samson carried him, kicking and flailing much as Little Lucy Turner had, to the boat being lowered into the water. He dropped him with a thunk into the boat and dropped down over the railing into it himself. The boat rocked for his great weight, all of its passengers grabbing hold of the sides and each other for fear of tumbling out into the water.

Once met with the boats from the _Pearl_, they rowed quickly inland. Samson stepped out of the boat and allowed the others to drag it ashore through the white sand. Samson crouched down, took a fistful of it, and let the smooth, cool powder slip through his fingers.

"Not seen sand before?"

"Naet sand, lad."

"Oh no?" Faust scoffed. "Then what is it?"

"Tis silver." Samson's brows rose. He could not quite believe it himself. "The silver shores of the lost crescent." He looked up at the lad, whose eyes were wide upon the wealth of silver sand and nodded. "Antolune."

"_Yes,_" seethed Alice Witter, breezing by them with a tot-toting Elizabeth Turner, "we're on Antolune! I thought that much would be obvious. _Now come on!_"

Faust watched the both of them stalk across the moonlit shore and saw Anamaria stomp a path to catch up, a sparkle in his eye though his expression was wary. Samson chuckled. He shook his head. "Glad it's naet me having t'answer to them."

Then hemade after the three women, shouting behind for all to follow.

- () -

After the eldest sister had shrugged away from the middle, ruffled her silvery frock of feathers, and shot one last narrow look at Verthandi, she turned to the waiting men—and the approving deity—and opened her hands to the air. Strands of light spit from her fingertips. The threads wove a tome before her. Too large it seemed for her wispy hands—and it sparkled. Seeming not to notice its ethereal grandeur, she flipped it open and dragged one lazy fingertip down the page.

"'In the event of Ahku Neko Neko Khar's return to sense and reason, after his purposeful venture into the world of madness, delusion, and ignorance, please turn to page…'" A dark glance at Ahku and a sound of disgust later, she'd cursed an incantation at the book. Its pages began to flip over, slow at first and then faster and faster until they seemed a whir of silver. Many moments, and pages Jack wagered, passed before she spat another command. The whir snapped quiet and the book still, and she poked the page with her finger. "'Twelve billion, twenty one million, one hundred sixty thousand, eighty seven.'"

William's eyes narrowed.

"Clever," Urd commented as the One Great Great God grinned, "but where was I… 'In the event of Ahku Neko Neko Khar's return to sense and reason, after his purposeful venture into the world of madness, delusion, and ignorance…'" She tapped the place where the words apparently picked up. "'…and after Antolune has risen from the waters…'" She glanced sidelong at a bored Verthandi who nodded wordlessly. "'…Ahku Neko Neko Khar shall deem it safe to inform his saving grace, who shall be handsomely rewarded, that all their trouble was, unfortunately, necessary.'"

Will's eyes narrowed. "_All _of it?"

Urd glanced at Ahku, who nodded her on, and frowned down at the page. "'Yes, Will, _all_ of it.'"

Ahku smiled at that. Jack couldn't help but admire that small touch of brilliance. He caught the deity's eye and flashed him a grin, but composed himself when Will cleared his throat. A sober look at the lad found him his own glare and he forced an apologetic smile.

Urd shook her head and continued to read. "'If any one thread in the tapestry past had been differently stitched, the all-encompassing knowledge of the One Great Great God could have easily passed into the clumsy hands of the one it was painstakingly hidden from in the first place.'"

"So _all_ the trouble in our lives," seethed Will, "had to do with that pile of emeralds on the cavern floor?"

Urd seemed as indignant as he but she looked to the text for the answer. "'A good deal of it, Will, but Great Great as the One God is, he is certain that at least _some_ of the trouble you three find yourself in is your _own_ bloody stupid fault.'" Urd, paling under their darkening glares, hurried on. "'Rest in knowing that that pile of emeralds on the cavern floor belongs to the three of you as do all the many and varied riches to be found on this once lost and now found island we stand upon.'"

Jack, however peeved at having been toyed with, did see the merit in such a reward. "It could be worse," he said to Will who turned a dubious look upon him. He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "It all could have been for nothing."

"'Please remember,'" read Urd, "'that it could be worse. It all could have been for nothing.'"

Jack's smile faded. If there was any one thing that Captain Jack Sparrow did not appreciate, it was having his better lines stolen—One Great Great God or not. Thinking that it was silly lining one's eyes in silver, Jack's own eyes narrowed on the smirking Ahku. "I don't much like you."

Behind him, Skuld giggled. A girlish light lit her large, opalescent eyes. "You'll like him even less very soon."

"And why," Jack asked, truly dismayed, "is that?"

Ahku winced, rubbing at the gems sparking upon his brow. Weary was his sigh. "The women are on their way."

- () -

Alice wasn't sure how she knew where the cave was but she knew all the same. Having had enough troubling thoughts for a lifetime of lifetimes in what she supposed was but one day, she tossed care of this matter to the wind and led the party of pirates and other persons through the dark jungle. Somehow, Elizabeth Turner's equally furious state drove her on through the thick fronds of foliage faster than she'd thought possible. It seemed not very long since they had dragged boats ashore that the pebbled mouth of the dry river came into view, and beyond it the shimmering overgrowth masking the mouth of the cave. A flash of recollection came to her then—

_of watching herself as if from behind, and hearing her voice though she didn't speak… a cold slice of fear and a wave of nausea at the sight of the golden eyes of the snake writhing over the shoulders she could not feel_—

Shouts there were and then a strong grip on her shoulder that bade her blink the odd memory away. Isaac's worried blue eyes stared into hers and she flushed a deep angry red at having been caught at such a weak moment. "I'm fine." She shrugged him off. "Trust me when I tell you that your worry would be better placed upon Jack."

"Oh," called Isaac after her as she hurried to move forward, "in that I do trust you."

"Tis bout the only time I'd trust a woman," Samson commented.

"Aye," echoed Gibbs, "can always trust a woman to make ye as miserable as she can."

Roth, who hadn't been far behind, shrugged. "Haven't a thing to complain 'bout meself."

The other three men exchanged glances. Samson gandered disbelievingly ahead at a stomping Anamaria, and Isaac snorted as he accepted the lantern from Roth. Gibbs, with a jolly slap to the young helmsman's shoulder, grinned at the lad.

"Yet," he warned.

"Mister Gibbs," asked Jack Turner, gaping upwards, "what do you make of that in the sky?" At some point the lad had been left in the company of the ungentlemen. His hurried mother had lost all patience with him after she and the other women had been slowed by the snail's pace he kept for his inability to look away from the strange heavens above.

Gibbs couldn't much blame the lad.

For every step forward they took, the woven chain had hovered lower and nearer their heads. Gleamed strangely it did, knots like beads of spider's spit. But it was too translucent to be made of anything other than the moon's own light.

"Well Jack," said Gibbs, "there's no tellin for certain." He lifted the oblivious lad o'er a large rock he'd have likely tripped over and glanced up at the splendid silver thing swaying above them. "But by the looks it appears someone's being paid a visit by the blessed Sisters Three."

"_Blessed_ sisters," Jack scoffed. "Those are the things of fairytales. My sister's more the _blasted_ variety. Wonder if they could teach _her_ to be blessed."

Ahead, Elizabeth Turner was carrying asquirming Lucy into the mouth of the cave when a great swirl of colour swept around she and the two other women. It drifted lazily as if carried on a breeze. Gibbs caught a whisper of a laugh followed by the trio of soft singing they of the Pearl and Swan had heard earlier. He and Jack watched as three wisps of light fluttered in and out the links of the chain up over their heads and out of sight.

Jack grunted. "So much for _that_ idea."

- () -

"Well," said Ahku Neko Neko Khar, "being that's it, fait accompli and all, it's time for me to be off. As it is, I'm unforgivably late for a chat with Zeus—and really, I'd rather avoid that thundering temper of his. So, ta ta for now. À bientôt, actually."

Having said that, the deity twirled in a circle. The long black cape spun out around him. It whistled in the air. His shape shrunk, all the translucence swirling into a spinning spectrum. It spiraled up and over the rocky ledge. Three pale feathers fluttered after it, and then all four disappeared from sight.

William Turner, jaw slack, stared after them. It was a long moment before he closed his open mouth, and another before his brows knit. Finally, they snapped together and he turned in a circle to glare at all the empty cavern.

"_That's it?_"

Jack swayed. He'd still been trying to figure who it was Ahku Neko Neko Khar reminded him of when William's howl of rage broke his concentration. His eyes uncrossed and his gaze sharpened upon the man he'd thought as lost as Antolune.

"_That's all?"_

William was really much more worn around the edges than he'd appeared to Jack upon Le Isle de Perle Noire. He really was wearing tan trousers… but they were frayed, the knee darkened by blood, and his big brown boots looked as if they'd seen much better days. His green vest and linen shirt looked near to threadbare. There were heavy lines around his mouth and upon his brow—more than likely from frowning much more than should be allowed a person—and his once glossy chestnut curls were limp waves of greying brown hair that looked to weigh upon his broad but hunched shoulders. What with his frustration and dismay, which both bordered on madness Jack guaged by the wildfire in his eyes, William was the picture of pitiful.

Bootstrap pocketed the black pearl that the One Great Great God had given him and jabbed the empty hand angrily at the empty air. "After all that! After all that and… _nothing!_"

Jack, much accustomed to William Turner's throwing a fit, watched calmly on as the man stalked the floor of the cave. Pebbles skittered as he kicked them. Jack bent to retrieve the ring that skipped toward him and slid the great smoky gem upon his finger. Will's shout startled him and he straightened in time to see William storming towards him.

"Ye always had the answers, Captain," William growled. His once steady hands shook, but they were as strong as ever as they clamped onto Jack's shoulders. "So what say you to this, eh?" When Jack did not respond but to gaze wide-eyed up at him, he gave him a slight shake. "Was this all fer nothin, Jack?"

"Of _course_ not."

Jack, quite ruffled, reached up and pried William's fingers off his shoulders. Placing him a respectable distance from himself, he took a step back for good measure and couldn't help rolling his eyes at the absurd notion that all their trouble had been for nothing. Really, it was ridiculous!

"Were you not listening, William?"

"T'was _you_ not listening, Jack. T'was all a trick set up to fix _his_ fate—"

"And in return, we have ourselves a pile of emeralds—which, by the looks of it they're set to be worth a pile of piece apiece. And… we _are_ standing on an island that was lost and couldn't be found. By anyone. It's uncharted. No one else knows where it is. And they won't… till we take what we can." Though this was all delightful, Jack saw weary Will out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but feel the anger that flared in his gut. His own eyes narrowed to a glare upon William as he took a measured step forward. "Not to mention, mate, this seems a good chance to appreciate and enjoy the _one_ good thing you gave this world."

"Oh," asked Bootstrap, "and what would that be?"

Jack gnashed his teeth in frustration as he saw Will turn. The lad was walking away when Jack grabbed hold of William's vest and dragged him dangerously close. "Your _son_." As echoes of voices of those that were approaching reached them, he shoved the man that had once been his closest friend away and glared at him. "Are you really that thick that it does not occur to you that all that trouble has as much fixed _your_ fate?"

"He hates me." William's hard, glaring eyes melted. Dark they were, and deep as he looked away. "And so do you."

Jack opened his mouth to respond but he hadn't the time. A shrill shriek of outrage demanded his attention upwards to where stood a frightful woman. Wild she looked, and Jack guessed she was just as wildly angry. In truth he could not blame her—what he'd witnessed of her merge with Barbossa had rather sickened him and he imagined it must have been leagues more deplorable being the one to have merged with the grimy git.

"_Jack Sparrow_—" she stopped to pick her way down through the stones, thankfully with much more trouble than had her phantom form. Once on the flat rock she marched forward. In her grey eyes waged a violent storm as she raged at him the entire stalk over. Jack was certain she'd screeched various unbecoming statements, insults, and generally hateful things at him by the time she finally stood before him but he had never been so glad to see her. "—well, what have you to say?"

"I'm sorry, dove."

"_Haven't you said enough al_—" She blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Yes, me too," Will echoed to a furious Elizabeth. "Completely sorry. For all the trouble I cause you, my love, I'm sorry."

Jack closed his eyes, inwardly cursing William's son. For one fleeting moment he'd imagined that all would turn out for the better and not the worse. Women, however, were for the most part difficult and twice that if two(or three as was the case as Anamaria was presently on her way to make his own personal hell just a little more hellish) were gathered together in a common cause. Two sorries said simultaneously to two ladies would not an apology make.

"_William?_"

A great Scot's great echoing brogue and a long-lost thought-to-be-dead man standing found and not-so-very-dead-at-all, however, seemed to suffice. All three women turned sympathetic looks upon both he and Will... and then murderous glares upon William Turner. Jack couldn't help feeling just the smallest bit better as he watched Bootstrap backing up, all three women descending upon him in a scraggle of screeches.

- () -

_**Author's Babble: **Intuition... Neris yells at Tetetuzu "_**Nai prosperei, Tetetuzu**_," which means "You won't have it, Tetetuzu." Then she says "_**Amnesei**_," which means "Forget it." "_**Destineo prosperi**_" means"I have attained my destiny.'""_**Fortua accomplei, karosamina**_," means "Fate accomplished, my precious"._

Ahku Neko Neko Khar _is not based on anything but Jack. _Tetetuzu_ is not based on anything._ Urd, Verthandi, and Skuld _are the mythological names of the Norns. Urd, the eldest, is said to rule the past. Verthandi, the middle sister, is said to preside over the present. Skuld, the youngest, is said to be keeper of the future. They are usually pictured with birds or outfitted in feathers so that's why they are "wispy" and "fluttery"._


	38. A Battle of Wills

Unfortunately, Captain Jack Sparrow hadn't much chance to enjoy Bootstrap Bill's unfortunate fate—he was soon favored by a less fortunate fate of his own: Isaac Faust's crushing embrace. So strong it was that it brought Jack to tears… of pain. Having been squeezed too tightly all too much, being strangled in his son's arms was, well, the clinch that broke the pirate's ribs. Jack gasped. That sharp intake of breath pierced his already acheing chest with pain—but instinct had him gasp again. Jabs like needles pricked his insides. Jack grit his teeth, summoning what strength he had left to silently curse that wretched serpent, that _snake_.

At the very least, Isaac stepped back to frown at him for the reaction and in the process relinquished the death grip. It took him a moment to take in the picture of the pained pirate—from the grimace upon his face to the strange stillness of his chest—but then worry brought his brows together. "Did I do that?"

"Not… entirely." Wary of moving, Jack kept stiff as a board. It was difficult keeping his hands, both which seemed to have a will of their own, from flicking the question from the air. His fingers twitched with the effort. "Damage was done."

Faust was squinting at his bruised and bloodied flesh through the tattered remains of his threads. There was a pinched look to his face that Jack knew all too well. It was the look that the lad and lady had shared more oft than Jack preferred—for it was the look that meant he was about to be told just how incredibly foolish he was, Captain Jack Sparrow or not.

Indeed, the lady had abandoned her bullying of Bootstrap to rush back to Jack. It was, he thought warily, as if Alice and Faust shared some sixth sense in that look. If one wore it, the other was soon to show up with the same face and humbling words he'd rather not hear.

"Jack, you're hurt," Alice said as if she'd not noticed before and then turned to Faust. "Let's get him to the _Pearl_."

Like those, he thought, irritated just a bit that for all his swagger, Ahku Neko Neko Khar hadn't uttered some magical incantation to heal his wounds. The One Great Great God, whose knowledge encompassed all, could not have simply pulled some strings? Was Ahku Khar—

"…_santa Maria_!"

Bootstrap's outburst turned his head, painful as movement might be. Jack had only heard the man speak Spanish once or twice, and his accent had never been as strong. But the importance of that matter faded as he saw, with his own wide eyes, the source of the man's amazement.

From within Will Turner glowed an unearthly light, not silver or gold but bright enough to be either. It happened fast—as soon as his skin seemed full of the fire of light, it began to fade. Clothes that had been reduced to rags were whole again. And Will, turning his palms over to study them, looked to be so amazed that he couldn't possibly be in as much pain as he had been when he and Jack had limped along the riverbed.

The light had barely gone from the blacksmith's fingertips when it snapped at Jack.

Jack stared down at his midsection in disbelief. Bruises faded. The stabbing pain had ebbed away from his chest like receding waters, and was fast dissipating. A silver flash caught his eye and he tore the shirt from his person to gape at the lines of light criscrossing his chest. Lightning-quick, its ends shot around his flank to his back. Feeling warm from the inside out, Jack did not mind so much the grotesque squelch of his bones being mended from within.

From the disgusted look on her face, Alice did seem to mind the sound. But before Jack could assure her that he'd previously been as disgusted by her own transformation, the light snapped at Bootstrap and he couldn't tear his gaze away as the man's worn and weathered threads were restored to their former glory. A few lines lifted from his face, and though the grey remained, Bootstrap's hair regained its gloss and the swing of its curl.

_Ahku _Neko Neko_ Khar._

Jack winced. He steepled his hands together in contrition but glanced warily upward. Though appreciative of the miracle worked upon his person, and those of his friends—friend, and _former_ friend rather—he hoped dearly that the echo of the deity's voice in his head would not be a lingering affliction.

"Was that Spanish, William?"

Bootstrap didn't answer. He couldn't. Will had shaken his son off his leg and had thrown a punch at his own father. It caught the man in the jaw and Jack winced with the rest of them as Bootstrap's head spun. When he recovered, he stood straight and tall. Eyes narrowed as one hand wiped at the bloodied lip. An ugly scowl twisted his mouth.

"Make ye feel better, did it?"

If Will was trying to look defiant, Jack thought, he was doing his very best. Turner's son had the look about him that Jack remembered only too well—the narrow-eyed, thin-lipped stare that made even the best pirates squirm under its harsh scrutiny. "And what if it did?"

Recognizing the challenge, and almost certain Will would be disappointed by his father's inability to meet it, Jack stepped forward to take Will by the arm. What he did not expect was Will's resistance. When he held firm, Jack cast a glance over his shoulder only to find his confusion mirrored upon the younger Turner's face.

Bootstrap had taken his other arm, Jack saw. A rough hand gripped Will's bicep. Its grip tightened, forcing Jack's gaze up to meet William's. There was a steely look to the man—a cold determination—that flared Jack's anger.

How dare he make his only interest in his own son a battle of wills between the two of them?

How could Jack have ever thought that it was truly William who had cared enough to visit the both of them upon the island? How could he have ever believed that the man who was so good at the silent treatment would have said so much? How could he have ever thought this man was a good man?

"Careful William," he said, "some might say bruising a blacksmith is bad luck."

"Ah, Cap'n," said Gibbs, showing up at Jack's side, "funny you should mention that. I was just about to. A caution old as the forge itself… any hand hath harmed the hammerer shall go black as ash and sever from thine own arm." There was a moment of silence following that, and then murmurs from the onlookers who Jack knew would have gone up in a roar of utmost amusement were it not for the serious situation they found themselves party to. Will kept his look of defiance but his father seemed to be struggling with the forbidding glare as he considered Gibbs' absurd word of warning. Gibbs, for his part, looked all too glad to see his captain, a wide grin brightening his usually surly face. "Wouldn't put much stock in it myself but then I'm not the one with a grip on the smith, eh Jack?"

"Aye Gibbs," said Jack, narrowing eyes just a bit at William, "you're not the one should be worried."

"Perhaps you should both let go of me then."

Will's growl drew both pairs of eyes to his. He directed a pointed glare at his father. William's jaw tensed to mirror his son's. So remarkable was the likeness that even Jack, who'd been quite aware of the resemblence for some time, was taken aback. His brows rose as Will's did. The younger Turner turned to him. He was glad to see that there was no such anger directed his way—only a look of exasperation. Feeling badly enough for him as it was, Jack dropped Will's elbow and took to studying the pebbles upon the cavern floor as the lad wrenched free of his father and hustled his family—Elizabeth and Jack both protesting loudly as Little Lucy huffed in her mother's arms—up and toward the cave's entrance.

Jack nodded Faust after them and was pleased to see no defiance on the face of his own lad. He watched with a certain pride as Isaac, carrying a torch, picked through the rocks without complaint and marched with purpose out of sight. Then he turned to Gibbs—and a scowling Anamaria.

"Don't give me that look, love," he said, "when you're about to be rich as a king." He ducked a fist and winced as a palm he wasn't expecting smacked his forehead. "_Queen_. I meant Queen…"

"You," she spat, "are goin to tell us what happened!"

This demand seemed to come from all those around Jack and William, whose arms barred his broad chest now, and even the meek Intuit priest looked eager to hear tell of the tale. Jack saw in his eyes that he already knew what had transpired and felt it quite a compliment that the man would like to hear it in his own words. He was also relieved to see that the Intuit held him to no blame for the disappearance of the priestess…

"Where is Neris?"

Alice, having always a sharp eye, had honed in on his lingering look at the priest and was glancing between them. Jack frowned and toed the pebbles a bit before daring to answer the question. He glanced hopefully at William—but the man offered nothing. If he knew any more than Jack did, he was not going to say. Realizing this, Jack kicked at an overly large pebble and shrugged his shoulders.

"Gone."

"Gone?"

"What," Jack snarled at her, "do you suppose that she's hiding under a rock waiting to pop out at you?"

Alice fell back from him with a hand to her heart. Wide grey eyes blinked. There was a quiver to her lip that made Jack reach out to her but too late. She had turned and fled from the cave, nightrobe rustling. Biting back a growl of frustration, Jack moved to follow but was stopped by a firm grip on his wrist. When he turned to Anamaria he meant to howl at her, but her serious, steady gaze becalmed him.

"We were all worried."

Jack sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and turned weary eyes upon Roth. The helmsman looked as sincere as the rest of them. Cotton's blue eyes were bright with tears and Sweet Sam Samson wore so solemn a look that Jack felt a bit choked up his self.

"Tell us," Anamaria said levelly, "what happened."

"Tis a tale to be told with a ration or two of rum in hand," he said to her and the rest of them. "Which we shall all enjoy—after it is we explore this island for its riches… which are, gentlemen—and lady—all ours." He waited patiently while the lot of them absorbed what he had said, and then canted his head towards the pile of glittering green upon the cavern floor. "Believe those will tide you over… now, me, I've had a trying day and would like nothing better than to get back to my ship."

Anamaria frowned and pointed at Bootstrap. "And what about him?"

Jack paused in stride but refused to turn around. "Oh don't worry about him love," he said, glancing over his shoulder in time to catch Bootstrap's glare. "He's none our concern."

Hours later, after which Jack had tried and failed to speak with Will—Elizabeth sending Faust over with notes of apology several times before the lad, weary from rowing so much between the two ships, had told his Captain in no uncertain terms that he'd not go back with yet another request that would only be denied—and managed to further incense Alice Witter with his having offered Ash and Cinder their fix of feline herbs that resulted in their clawing apart one of her elaborate skirts that resulted in her leaving the _Pearl_ in favor of the _Swan_—he was most glad that at least one thing had gone according to his word.

Crew of the _Pearl_ had, after long hours spent on Antolune, come back in boats to the ship alongside those rowing toward the Swan. Anamaria, first to leap from the boat, had dug a bulging sack from her hip pocket and tossed it to him. Gibbs had done the same. Emeralds—fragments of the sword of Ahku Neko Neko Khar—glittered darkly from within both and Jack had packed them away amidst whispers of the man who would not speak.

Of course, Jack knew that the man who would not speak was Bootstrap. As it was, Bootstrap was also the man who was not their concern and so he was very happy to see that after all had returned to the ships there was but one solitary figure sitting ashore. Gibbs, who stood with Jack at the railing, did not look so pleased. There was a glum look to his face.

"Think it's wise to treat him this way, Jack?"

"Only as wise it was having us think him dead so long."

Gibbs frowned but had nothing further to say on the matter. He clapped his captain on the back and hurried off across the deck. His footsteps faded away and left Jack in silence to stare out at the dark figure of his former friend.

It continued in the same manner for a few days as Jack sent out crew to Antolune to gather any riches they could find. To his mounting irritation, however, it seemed there was not much to be had on the island. The men—and woman—brought back buckets of the silver dust that was Antolune's sand until it was Jack feared for the shoreline and forbade any more silver to be brought aboard. The declaration was met with hostility for the lack of much else to bring him.

Once, Gibbs muttered 'mutiny'. Captain Jack Sparrow was more frustrated than surprised—in fact he was of the same mind as most the men—and woman—on the matter. 'Mutiny' was on the tip of his own tongue. Fortunately there were yet barrels of rum to be had and so in a desperate move to improve morale he dragged several of those heavy oaken barrels from the stores up all the many stairs abovedeck.

Morale trumped mutiny. In fact it seemed that some of the men drew inspiration from their drink. After quite a many mugsfull Roth riled Tearlach and Cook, who pushed his glasses up with extra fervor, so much that the three of them were off on "an expedition" before Jack had even a moment to approve of it. He was glad they had not waited for his approval—which he wouldn't have been likely to give at the time what with the three of them all but drowned in their cups—when later they returned with a cache of rare herbs and spices.

Their success was infectious. Soon the crewmen—and crew-woman—of the _Black Pearl_ were combing Antolune for its excess of natural resources. Cotton went off with Marty and Tearlach to pull up saplings of rare trees(which did not, Jack was thankful, attack them), Roth and Anamaria scoured the riverbed for rocks that weren't pebbles(bringing back a barrel's worth of uncut emeralds the size of plums), and Jack himself accompanied Cook on a hunt for rare flowering plants(finding a fair few, many of which were exotic orchids Jack had only dreamed about) while Gibbs watched over the ship.

It was as Jack boxed up a tiger-striped orchid that Toddul, Lemmy, and Shakes came at him. They were shouting triumphantly, Shakes carrying something long and flat in his trembling hands. It shook until Toddul grabbed it from him. It was a long, wooden box. It had been unearthed, some dust still clinging to it. Jack brushed it off. On its lid was painted in gold a circular design. Inside, they discovered, were many tightly-rolled scrolls of silvery parchment.

The Captain was very thankful. Leaving the other two men with Cook to continue digging up flowers, Toddul and Jack took the artifact to the _Pearl_. Jack handed the box off to Gibbs, insisting it be placed in captain's quarters until he could examine the scrolls to discern what they contained. Toddul toddled off to rejoin his comrades on Antolune, but the captain was waylaid.

Enthusiastic crewmen presented several specimens of strange animals—one a black lizard with a whiplike tail that seemed to favor striking at a glowering Gibbs— to Jack in cages. He ducked as an overly excited Cotton's cage nearly beheaded him, its hissing occupant nearly as unsettled as the captain of the _Black Pearl_. A very big, very purple turtle begged Jack with yellow eyes to let it go and he did, after a lengthy explanation to a fallen-faced crewman of turtles needing to live in wetter climes than was the _Pearl_, plopping the shelled thing in a boat and rowing it ashore himself. After lifting the turtle out of the boat and setting it on the silver sand, he glanced about but did not see Bootstrap. In fact, for the three days that he sent crew to shore they had buzzed about the man who would not speak who would not be seen until nightfall, and Jack realized upon the third evening that they were quite right. For on that third evening as he rowed back from having taken the turtle ashore, he saw the lone dark figure emerge from the shimmer of moonlit trees. Gritting his teeth, he kept rowing and when he stepped out of the boat onto the _Pearl_ Jack stormed off to his cabin to examine the scrolls. What was on his desk, however, stopped him. There lay where he and Will had left it the map he had plotted the course to Antolune on.

Twelve, twenty-one, eighty-seven.

Bootstrap had written the last entry of that bloody journal on the day that he and that cursed crew had set out to find that last coin that the man knew was a lost cause—because he had lost the coin on purpose. For many years had Jack been shamed by the thought of Bootstrap having gone to a watery grave on his account. For many years the scene he had not witnessed had haunted his dreams, Barbossa egging them on and William begging them stop. For many years Jack had woken in cold sweat, wondering if William's soul were crying out to him in those dreams…

But William had been alive the entire time. William had been alive and had hidden from him for… for too long a time! Jack cussed and stalked back out on deck.

There was really no purpose in his pacing. Several of his crew tried to make conversation but, after the fourth man walked away having been ordered to scrub the galley, no more attempted this difficult feat and Jack was left to his furious thoughts of desertion and—_dishonesty_! He was trying to remember what The Code allowed for those crimes when he caught sight of a familiar figure standing forlorn upon the _Swan_.

Will was facing the shore.

Jack sighed.

"Won't talk t'any one o' us."

Samson's low brogue startled Jack. He jumped. A glare he spared the Scotsman before glancing toward the other lone figure—the one sitting idly on the silver beach.

"_He_ won't talk t'me aether." The jagged scar tightened, Samson's jaw tense. Darkness settled behind his green eyes. "So I say let th'bloody fool sit!"

"Aye," said Jack, "s'what I say too, mate."

Silence passed between them. There was not much either could say to the other about it without one of them going on a raging tirade and Jack knew that the both of them knew that. William was still a sore spot between them, but now in an unanticipated way, a way in which they agreed.

"Young Turner though…"

"Will talk when he's sure he's able," Jack assured Samson. "His silence is as stoicly stubborn as William's."

* * *

"Stubborn fool," clipped the Ice Queen. "Still staying his distance." Standing on her toes to see out the porthole, the small woman glared out at what Jack Turner could only guess was Uncle Jack on the _Pearl_. She'd made no secret of her sudden dislike of the pirate captain, many times throughout her days spent aboard the _Swan_ making snide comments about the 'crazy cuckoo' and his 'insistent insensitivity'. After two days of this, Jack had, along with the skinniest Intuit priest, pleaded with his mother to send her off to the _Pearl_ but to no avail—Elizabeth Turner had shooed the both of them out of the cabin. They should have expected that reaction. Missus Turner was in no better mood herself. 

To be fair, Jack supposed some of his mother's irritation was his fault. Indeed he had come under her wrath no less than five times, the last having been the worst. But he'd never been the sort to ignore curiosity and truth told he was more than a bit curious about the man he knew was his grandfather. That curiosity led him to badger her morning, noon, and night, begging and pleading to go ashore to speak with Bootstrap Bill. Afterall, he had heard so much about the man from Uncle Jack, and from his father, and he saw no reason why he should not be allowed to at least introduce himself. Apparently, though, his mother saw several reasons, each of which she screeched at him the last time he had got up the courage to approach her once more.

But most of her snappishness seemed to have come from the dark mood that had crept upon the _Swan_. From Samson to the skinny Intuit, no one seemed to be in good spirits and Jack suspected that his mother, Elizabeth, found this as irksome as he did. Behind closed doors she and Jack's father had had quite a few discussions that turned into shouting matches that resulted in Will Turner's storming from wherever his wife had cornered him to stalk about the _Swan_.

Jack had just only witnessed one of these rows when Miss Witter had swept into captain's quarters to snipe about his namesake. Sullen from having heard his mother berate his father with insults he as a proper boy dare not utter, he scowled at her back. Ice Queen or not, he was, himself, in no mood to mind her.

"Your father," she snipped, turning to acknowledge Jack, "is just as foolish!"

Much as he wanted to, Jack could not disagree. His father had been acting foolish. If he had been lost for so long as Bootstrap Bill had, and Jack had found him, there would be no way Jack could choose not to speak to him. Still, he did not much enjoy hearing his father put down by a woman who most often looked down her nose at him.

"And your grandfather's as bad as the both of them!"

"Don't you talk about him!" Jack jumped up, having had enough of her griping for two lifetimes and thinking that going on about Bootstrap, whom she did not know any better than any of the rest of them did, was too much. He grabbed up his father's abandoned hat and jammed it on his head, not caring that it sat sideways. He pointed a finger at the wide-eyed Ice Queen. "You don't know him to talk about him!"

Miss Witter's wide eyes narrowed. There was a shrewd look in her eyes. Jack had seen such a look before—it was the look she'd shot at him when he'd said there were no secrets on the _Pearl_ when he was aboard, and it was the look he came under when his mother knew he was up to no good.

"Nor do you, but it hasn't stopped you wanting to talk to him has it?"

"Well wouldn't you want to talk to your grandfather if you never had?"

The question seemed to startle the woman. She fell back a step and laid a hand upon her heart. That shrewd look was gone, lost to a glazed gaze that Jack was sure meant she was thinking. There were a few furious silent moments between them and then her expression sharpened. She gave him a quick nod and as pink showed in her cheeks turned around to stare out the porthole as if they had not spoken at all.

Jack took that to mean that his leaving the room would not be considered rude and so he did. He stalked out of there and on deck. He was not certain what he meant to do, but he knew that he was itching to do something if the adults weren't willing. But what could a singular boy do? Of that, Jack was not certain either. He was frowning down at the deck as if for suggestions when the soft creak of wood picked up his head. Not a yard away, two hanging longboats swayed in the breeze. Moonlight glowed upon them, illuminating the oars lashed to their sides.

Jack's eyes narrowed.

Echos of heavy steps nearing took him by surprise and he fell back against the mast of the ship only to scramble around it when he saw that it was his father who was coming closer. Hoping that he had not been seen, Jack held his breath. When his father made for the boats, he let out a sigh of relief.

Waiting only until his father had disappeared over the side of the ship, Jack crept up to the railing to peer over. When the boat met the water and Will Turner looked up, Jack had to duck. The rope that his father tossed up smacked heavy on his head, but he daren't utter a sound. After having heard the quiet slosh of oars for a few moments, Jack scrambled out from under the rope and popped up to gander down at his father. He watched, through narrow eyes, to see which way his father would row. When the shadow of boat made for the _Black Pearl_, Jack clucked his tongue, much annoyed.

Deciding it was high time to take matters into his own hands, Jack's hands gripped the railing. He waited for his father to disappear around the side of the _Pearl_ and when he had, Jack glanced about the _Swan_ to make certain no one was watching. Though the only sounds were the soft creak of timber and the gentle slosh of water against hull, he wanted to be sure that all decks were abandoned.

To his luck, they were. There was no man—or woman—around to catch sight of him. Jack stood on tiptoe to grasp the edge of the hanging boat. It was a head higher than he stood, but he was determined. With a struggle he made it, and his fingers fast unknotted the two ropes holding the boat in the air. He'd never himself lowered a rowboat, but he had watched his parents, the Commodore, Captain Groves, and Uncle Jack enough to know exactly how to go about it.

With a grin, he gave the ropes some slack.

The boat lurched. Over the side of the _Swan_ it went, and at an odd angle at that. Jack's grin was gone for a grimace as he clenched his fists to stop the haphazard descent. He stared straight up the bow of the boat to the spool where the rope spun. He hadn't expected the measley rowboat to weigh as much as it did. It took all Jack's strength to keep hold of one rope while easing out the other to level the boat, and by the time he was finally in the water and tossing the ropes back up to the _Swan_ he would have been content to slump back and have a rest. But that was not an option if he did not want to be stopped. Pressing his lips in a line, he took the blade he'd hidden up his sleeve—like Isaac Faust—and slashed through the tethers holding the oars. In what seemed no time he was rowing to shore, gaze steady upon the spot of fire and dark figure of his father's father sitting alone beside it.

* * *

Will wasn't sure what it was that finally broke him from the box he'd been keeping to, but he found himself rowing slowly toward his friend's ship before he even knew what he was doing. It certainly could have been Alice Witter's constant complaints—those were beginning to get on his nerves, especially those aimed at him without the use of a whisper when it was he was but ten paces away. Perhaps it had been Isaac Faust's final plea. The younger man had fallen to his knees and begged Will to go to Jack Sparrow before it was that poor Faust's arms fell off from all the rowing between boats. Maybe the Intuits' suggestions, unspoken but clear all the same, had nettled him from his forced calm once or twice. 

Surely, he thought with a wince, it had somewhat been Elizabeth's parting words before he'd stormed off. Never before had she resorted to such crude insinuations, usually favoring trickier insults than she'd fired at him earlier on the eve. And, he thought, a bit had been his son's numerous gloomy glances that meant no sooner than Will had gained favor with the boy than he'd lost it again. But most of all, he thought as he tied the end of a grapple line to the boat, it had been staring out at the solitary man on the beach, the one whom Will felt was further away in sight than he'd ever been so far removed from his memory.

He tossed the grapple up to catch the railing of the Pearl. Ignoring what was surely Jack Sparrow's cry of alarm, and the subsequent fast patter of bootheels overhead, he began climbing hand over hand. When he cleared the rail, he found a beringed hand and took it. Up over the structure and feet on the deck he looked up to find the pirate's accusatory glare.

"There are better ways of boarding me ship, Will."

As if to illustrate what Will already knew he meant, Jack let go of his hand and wrenched the grapple from the rail. It had left a nice dent in one spindle and splintered the thick black handrail. The captain examined it with a worried eye and then gently hooked the grapple to a nearby crate full of rocks instead.

"So you keep telling me."

Jack straightened to fix him with a dirty look for the impertinence, but it faded fast for a pull of his mouth that was a feeble smile. Will ignored it and walked past him to lift a hooting crate from the deck. He held it up before his eyes and was surprised to see a black owl glaring back at him between the wooden slats.

"An owl? Aren't they winter birds?"

"Yes," said Jack, really smiling now, enough to allow the gold in his mouth to gleam under the moonlight, "except that one." He shrugged. "Unless it's been blown off course of course."

"But why do you have it aboard?"

"Because Will," said Jack in the patient tone Will had heard him use with children, "it is an owl that is not a winter bird."

"Ah."

Jack took the crate from his grasp, peered in at its angry inhabitant for a moment, and then set it down again. While he was bent over, Will picked up another crate, this one wrapped in iron net and hissing at him, and stared in at the coiling, orange snakes… no lizards, for they had scaly legs and feet! There were at least three heads, he counted, and one was marked with a reddish diamond.

"Firebreathers, be careful."

Whether Jack meant it literally or not, Will set that cage down of his own accord and abandoned the crates and cages to take a look about the ship. The Black Pearl was same as always otherwise, but its shrouds and shadows seemed darker than ever. Will frowned at Samson, who was hunched over the rail, and took a few steps toward the man but stopped short of it to turn back to Jack.

It seemed the pirate was waiting for it. His hands were politely behind his back and his gaze, though dark with kohl, was gentler than any time Will had met it before. "There is," he said quietly, "something else. An artifact. I've left it in my desk… if you would like to see it…?"

Will nodded. "I would."

He followed Jack into the captain's quarters and to the office therein. Last he'd seen Jack there had been when the pirate captain was musing over the meaning of the charts marked for Antolune. Indeed, he noted, the charts were still strewn about the desktop. Even the pince-nez that Jack had so strained to conceal lay there in plain sight.

As his friend went about finding what he'd locked away, Will traced the swirling path to the sunken island with a fingertip. He read the coordinates on the round, gilt device he supposed was a star map. Shuddering, he drew his hand away and hugged his sides for warmth. When Jack produced a long, dark object, however, his curiosity got the better of him and he reached out for it despite the chill in his bones.

It was a long, flat piece of smooth wood. Only at the corners was it rough at all and Will guessed that was only because it had been buried with rock. Oddly enough, the thing was marked with golden circles. Seven of them he counted, six within the biggest. When he turned it over, he caught sight of a dark line and followed it around the perimeter, only dragging his eyes away to look up in surprise at Jack.

"It's a box."

Jack's lips twitched. "Is _that_ what it is?" He reached for it, and took it, and raised his brows at Will. "Well I never would have guessed. It's lucky, isn't it, that we have someone of your expertise aboard?" Ignoring the dark glare upon him, he slid the lid off and held it back out to Will. "Tell me, for I haven't quite figured, what are these?"

Will looked into it but did not take it. He frowned down into the box at the many tiny silver scrolls it contained. "Scrolls?" He looked up at Jack. "What are they?"

"I don't know," Jack shrugged, taking the box and sliding the lid back in place and putting it back in its hiding place. "But," he said, standing back up and swaying across the room to take out two bottles of wine, "they're not why you're here. You care less about them than what else was found on that island. Sit." He pointed at a chair with one of the bottles and when Will sat handed it to him. "And if you don't drink that wine—"

But Will had already uncorked it and was taking a hearty drink from it. He paused and met Jack's startled gaze over the rim of the bottle. He swallowed. "Don't worry. I need it."

"I s'pose Elizabeth has locked the liquor cabinet and thrown away the key?"

Will glowered. "Hid it."

"Ah."

"You see," said Will darkly, "_she_ is allowed to _sot_ herself but me? No, _I_ am _not allowed_ to get soused when need be." He frowned and looked down at his hand. It was clenched about the neck of the bottle. "And I think I need to be."

"Well Will," said Jack, a smile curling his lip, "what you think, I know. Drink up."

They clinked bottles and drank wine. It was quiet for a time. Will listened to the sound of the sea washing the _Black Pearl_. Jack's ship was swaying, but barely, and so sweet was the sea to her that her timbers only gave the faintest of creaks. All was calm. And then Jack Sparrow sat his wine down with a thump on the desk.

"**_Curse your father_**!"

Startled, Will jumped. Wine sloshed his jaw. It dripped onto his shirt, staining it red.

"**_For all he's done, curse him_**!"

* * *

Antolune, William thought, was rather a quiet place at night. There was no one to disturb him, no one to quiet the loud jangle of thoughts in his head. Most might think such a blessing, but as for William Turner… he thought it a curse. 

Daylight and dusk kept him busy. Before dawn he'd wake and go into the woods, keeping quiet himself so as to hear any sound of approach. Whenever Jack Sparrow's crew got too close he'd ease off silently in another direction, thinking not of the men—and woman—and their captain, but of what else there might be to avoid on the island. Snakes had slithered over his boots several times but after having been coiled in their biggest of brethren, William couldn't count them a preoccupation. More troubling had been the mudpits and the creeping vines. Though the plants weren't chasing him as they had when he'd first stepped foot on Antolune, he couldn't help but cast a wary eye upon the ground as he tread through the jungle.

But every eve, when night fell and the sounds of hunting and gathering faded from Antolune, William was left with less to do and more to worry about. Many thoughts he'd chased away but those deeper in his mind refused to leave him. And those thoughts were the worst kind, the kind that would have him believe that he was most worthless a human being.

They were probably right, he thought, staring glumly out at the _Black Pearl_. At first sight of the ship he'd nearly wept. Having kept away from her for so long, the last time he'd looked upon_Pearl_ was when her sails were in tatters. Her soul had been weeping for her lost captain, and she had been listing in the water. But when he'd stood on the beach gazing out at her, the _Black Pearl_ had never looked so serene.

Her love had returned to her, he'd thought. And then he'd sat down with a thump in the sand and thought that Jack had been truer than he could ever hope to be. Captain Jack Sparrow had bested him.

On that third night it was the same thought in his head as he gazed out at that ship, at the _Black Pearl_ resting so peacefully beside the smaller ship. Swans they both were—one light as gold and the other darkly beautiful—lazing on the silver sea.

A flurry of activity aboard the smaller ship grabbed his attention. William, having long ago lost the edge to his eyesight, squinted out at the dark shapes moving and determined that someone was once again taking down a rowboat. As had happened each time he saw that happen, his heart began to race. He clenched his fingers in the sand to steady himself.

But the shape of the boat was making its way toward the _Pearl_.

William breathed a sigh of relief, but too soon. For as soon as the boat cleared the bow of the _Pearl_, another boat was hurtling toward the water. There was a moment when William was sure that whomever was manning the thing would be dumped head over heels, but the shape soon slowed and straightened itself out. When it finally found the water, it appeared not to move.

Frowning, William watched for a long moment. He wondered why the boat wasn't moving but seemed to be growing larger. And then he'd realized, with a start, that it was headed right for him.


	39. Questions and Answers

Jack Turner couldn't contain his excitement. Not only had he just loosed a boat and rowed it to shore for the first time, but he had beached it himself as well. Dragging it through the sand was a bit of a struggle. Maybe, he thought, it was just that it always looked easier done than was. But by the amused look on Bootstrap Bill's face, Jack knew he must have had a hard time of it.

"Like to see you do that," he told the man, "with only nine years to your name!"

The corner of Bootstrap's mouth lifted. He made no move to speak. Stared at Jack for a time, Bootstrap did, and then his dark eyes went blank. Jack, who'd made a line for his grandfather to stand before him, followed the man's empty gaze over his shoulder out to sea. Finding nothing in particular to be looking at, he frowned and stood aside.

"Shouldn't be here, son."

Jack folded his arms as he'd seen Samson do. For some reason it made him feel just a bit safer—but that was silly to think one needed to feel safe around one's own grandfather! "I know."

Bootstrap Bill Turner frowned, but he did not say anything. In fact, he busied himself searching for something within the folded top of his boot. From it he took a pouch and a pipe and a small tinderbox. It was as if Jack was not even there…

Finding this frustrating—for why it seemed that his grandfather did not wish to speak to him he could not begin to guess—and feeling rather cold despite the clement weather, Jack hugged his sides. He watched Bootstrap puff on the pipe, saw the smoke furl around them, and smelled something not unlike Uncle Jack's rum. It was a pleasant smell, much more pleasant than should have persuaded his stomach to pitch like it did.

"Can you blow rings?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Bootstrap looked at him. He did not answer but his chest rose as it filled with smoke. When he took the pipe away, quick bursts of ghostly grey escaped his mouth in rapid succession till there wavered a line of smoke rings before him.

"Amazing," Jack breathed. "Have you any other tricks?" Eager to see more, he knelt in the cool, silver sand before his grandfather. "Faust's shown me some o' his but I bet he'd choke on smoke!"

Bootstrap's mouth turned up in a smile. He ran a thumb around the ivory bowl of his pipe, put the bit to his mouth, and inhaled. Smoldering herbs glowed, lighting up his dark eyes to show their depths. Jack met his gaze. He cursed himself for it but turned away feeling shy. When he turned back he saw smoke shooting from Bootstrap's flared nostrils while it streamed from both corners of his mostly closed mouth. He looked like—

"A dragon!"

"Not just any dragon," his grandfather said with a chuckle. "An angry dragon." He put the pipe back up to his mouth and puffed on it. When he took it away again, his eyes narrowed just a bit. "Faust a pirate?"

A tad bit of excitement wriggled in Jack's belly. Whether it was because the man had finally asked him something or because he'd finally asked him something he'd been itching to talk about he did not know. Either was fine by him.

"No," he said, leaning forward so his whisper wouldn't be lost on the man, "I heard it told that Isaac Faust has come back from England a redcoat! But no one's s'posed to know it, '_specially_ Uncle Jack. Savvy?"

Bootstrap sat back with a crack of laughter. He nodded at Jack. "Understood." A set of straight, white teeth flashed and then he whistled. "Oh if I could hear Sparrow when he finds out..."

"Are you mad?" Jack leaned back, eyeing the man. "It'll be Armageddon!"

"Read the Bible do you?"

"Course," Jack scoffed. "Missus Topp's favorite book's the Good Book so I've got to read it. 'Sides, even if I didn't, Mister Gibbs talks about it all the time. I'm not sure if he thinks anyone's listening, but I hear him just the same. Jesus, Mary, and all the Saints. I think he's worried they won't take him."

Bootstrap raised his brows.

"'Fore I went on to Missus Topp's, Da taught me reading. But he's not as good as Mum is—" Jack stopped, feeling a hot blush spread over his cheeks. He looked up at his grandfather through the fringe of his eyelashes. "I'm not supposed to know that."

"Well if you're not supposed to," asked Bootstrap, "how is it that you do?"

Jack looked at the sand, feeling for some reason like a traitor. "Mum was tellin Uncle Jack how proud she was that Da was tryin so hard to teach me… I overheard."

"Sounds as if ye hear lots of things ye shouldn't."

Jack shrugged. "Hiding's my specialty."

Bootstrap nodded sagely. "Mine too, son, mine too."

* * *

Jack Sparrow had never looked more threatening. A wild tangle of mess was his hair and his eyes blazed with such heat that even the fires of hell could probably not compare. Pirate captain by all accounts was this man, the man storming about his captain's quarters in a thundering rage. It had come on out of nowhere, like a bolt from the blue. Quick as lightning's strike had the accusations shouted from Jack, and Will wondered momentarily if Ahku Khar's Zeus had anything on the tempestuous man before him. 

Tumult he'd wreaked upon his own sanctuary. With a thousand curses he'd even tipped over the spare cupboard of rum. The stuff stank. Will saw it sinking into and staining the Oriental rug that was littered with the things Jack's furious arm had swept off his desk. One of the strange instruments, which Will did not pretend to know the significance of, the pirate had hurled with all his might at the elaborate glass cabinet in the corner. It had shattered one pane and glinted at Will from within. There it laid upon the shelf amidst the things always there: an old and unused but all too familiar pistol, several odd canisters, a sheaf of parchment bound with a leather strap, and a single dagger Will had not laid eyes on before. It was small and simple, its tarnished blade stained dark…

A sickening crack of glass brought him sharply around. Lurching to his feet, Will looked round frantically for something to defend himself with if the mad pirate charged him. When he realized that the clamor of rage had been reduced to whimpers, his frenetic gaze searched instead for Jack. It found him sagging against the mirror through which he'd stuck a fist. Forehead to it, Will could not see his face, but he did see the blood on Jack's knuckles.

"Curse him," came the pirate's choked voice, "the coward." He stepped back away from the mirror and Will was relived to see that he'd not cut himself deeply, although he was certain by the look on Jack's face that he'd been cut deeply by someone else—namely the coward who was his father. "Hiding from us—like a dog with his tail tucked 'tween his legs… on no account—"

"No," said Will quietly, "he doesn't seem to have any answers, does he?"

Jack, startled by the sudden question, looked back at Will as though he had forgotten he was there. A strange look twisted his face and he scrubbed at it with his uninjured hand. Eyes cast down, he could not note the appearance of Sam Samson in the doorway and Will, unsure if he'd go on if he knew the man was there, did not see fit to inform him of the matter.

"Never answered to anyone, your father."

"Except Neris."

"Never answered to her either," said Jack with a frown, "but then no one needed to answer to Neris for Neris to know the answers." He looked at Will. "Unless," he said, "someone did not want her to know." Against the mast he leaned, closing his eyes. "Your father did her as much wrong as he did us, Will. Don't blame her for his mistakes."

"So easy for you to say," shot Will, pointing a finger at the pirate. "You, part and parcel to what kept him from his family, were not there to witness the wasted tears my mother cried for that man!"

Jack looked as though he'd been struck. He turned away and his face was hidden in shadow. When he spoke, his voice was but a quiet rumble. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?"

Samson took that moment to step in. He hesitated in the midst of Jack's mess. Framed in the draperies of the doorway with his bulky arms folded awkwardly over his massive chest, he looked as if only a painting of a pirate.

"That's right you don't," he said, making Jack jump. The Scot frowned at him and then turned green eyes on Will. "And by nae fault o' your own. Would if you'd been told—tis time to tell the truth!" As Jack moved to protest he growled, raising a fist. "Nae, Jacky—Sainthood's not for the living and Bootstrap's very much alive!"

* * *

"Are you going to come back with us?" 

The boy's question cut through the companionable silence that had fallen between the two of them. William paused with the pipe to his mouth and stared down the long length of it at the boy—his grandson, think of it—staring just as startled back at him. There was, however, hope in the boy's expression that William did not himself have any hold of—nor, after all these years of silence, dare to wish for.

"To Port Royal, I mean," said the boy, having mistaken his quiet for confusion. He knelt up with an eager grace so common to boys excited to explore a new horizon, an enthusiasm so lost on the men who had already gone before them. "It's not big as some ports, but I know all the places—oh!" A smile lit up his face. "You'll want to go to the cove of course." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "It's out from under the eye of most the town. You can do whatever you like without anyone there to see you—Mum does most of her swordplay practice there."

William raised his brows.

"She's got real good at it, can disarm Uncle Jack even. Da taught her that strategy special just to see the look on Uncle Jack's face." The boy leaned back, effort of thought twisting his entire face. "There's the harbor, where it's good to spot the ships come in, and Mister Gladley's pastures—he's got _fifteen_ horses—and the fort—oh but you won't want to go there on count of the redcoats—but I expect you'll like the wharf. You fish?"

"Used to."

"It's good for that." He gave the nod of one with utmost knowledge. "Loads of fishes in there."

William hid a smile behind his pipe. "Ye don't say…"

"Loads of 'em, I tell you—caught myself a really big one last time—"

"How big?"

It seemed the right question to ask, for the boy's grin seemed to stretch as far as his hands did. William eyed this supposed length of fish with suspicion. To his eye—which was still good up close far as he could tell—it was a length much too long to have been reeled in by the scrawny arms describing it.

"Did ye eat it?"

"'Course not!" The boy scoffed. "A fish that big? We'd have been eating it for days!"

"Ah," said William, trying very hard not to betray his disbelief, "what'd ye do with it then?"

But his grandson had lapsed back to the grand scheme of his, concentration hard on his face again. Though William took a really long drag on his pipe, he sighed inwardly. There was little point, he thought, hearing so much of a place where he wagered he would not be welcome.

"…and Mum tries to bake—but she's not really all that good at the art of the kitchen—so the baker, Mister Sweetser, stops by on the Lord's Day with a basket of breads and pies…"

That had been some bit of why he never sought the boy's father in the first place, hadn't it? It had seemed foolish to assume that a boy neglected by his father in childhood would want to know him as an adult. Too little too late, Jack might say…

"…and Captain Groves gives me sailship lessons…"

Mostly, though, he had known he was a danger to his son in one way or another. When Barbossa and his crew of rabble tossed him to the depths promising to find that cursed coin he'd thought for a time that he had lost—that they knew right where it was and would spill his unsuspecting son's blood before he was even able to shake free of the shackles they'd strapped to him. The thought of the wide-eyed boy lighting up as he unknowingly lifted a cursed gold coin out of the package William had sent—only the second package William had ever sent—kept him from freeing himself for a time. When after an eternity of darkness he still hadn't drawn a single breath of water, hope flared that his plan had gone off as expected and in a frenzy he'd worked out a way—he winced thinking on it—to free himself…

"…Lucy hates the water, but she's been fairly well-behaved this trip. I think it's just Uncle Jack though, anyone else keeping that little chit onboard a ship would have a time of it… she does have a fascination with sand though…"

Going on some wild sense of direction, perhaps an Intuit gift, William had made for that godforsaken island they'd left Jack to die on. Some semblance of a mad plan was forming in his head as he made his way slovenly through the heavy water. By the time he vaulted up off his feet to swim to the surface he had a fairly good idea that if anyone would go into a mad dash with him it would be Jack Sparrow—if his captain was still alive that was. When finally his feet had hit land he'd cast a sharp eye about—the island being small—and held hope that Jack had done his best not to perish. It was a fool's notion that the man might survive so long on such a small, sparse island but… hadn't William always been a fool? As the hours passed, however, with no sign of Jack Sparrow having ever been there… And then his heart, if it even beat anymore, had stopped.

In the sand something shone at him. He'd picked it up and rolled the silver bead between his fingers. It had been the one favorite in Jack Sparrow's mane—a gift he, William, had given the man. It was a silver charm in the shape of a soaring bird and it had winked up at him in the sunlight with as much mischief as William remembered Jack's eyes to have always held.

So, he'd thought, Jack had been there—but where was he? Well there was no telling. There had been no sign of him dead or alive. And so William had pocketed the bead and waded out into the shallows. Out past them he'd gone, into deeper water, and with a glance over his shoulder he'd dove headfirst to the dark depths with a mind to make for the closest inhabited island…

"…he's getting up in years but he'll likely ask you to join him for a game of croquet. Da seems to like it but it doesn't look all that fun to me—too many rules, and that Gilette fellow from the fort raises a fuss if even one is flapped…"

It had been a difficult thing to explain his appearance without a ship or boat in harbor, especially owing to the fact that he knew only a bit of their native language(and most unsuitable for use in civilized conversation), but it had been ever more painful making certain never to be in anyone's line of sight when would come the moon's light to reveal his cursed bones. Several close calls he'd endured waiting for a ship to come in, but there was no horror equal to his when that ship was the _Black Pearl_ with her guns blazing.

Up a tree he'd gone before the chaos reigned. He had heard all around him the crack of gunfire and the subsequent confusion of the poor people who had thought such weapons couldn't fail. They could not understand why the cursed pirates were not dying when hit. He had heard their terror as the moonlight revealed the unnatural nature of the men, and he had closed his eyes so as not to see his own cursed bones and listened for any trace of his coin or Jack in the pirates' shouts to one another.

As luck had it, though William was not of the mind at the time, Barbossa himself stopped below the tree William had perched in and was soon joined by the big, brutal Bo'sun and the traitor Twigg. The three of them had had the starved look about them even then as they hurried to speak away from the other men. What they'd discussed hadn't been Jack Sparrow, nor had it been that cursed coin…

_"They's searchin."_

_Barbossa uttered a sound of contempt but offered no reply to Bo'sun. His feathered hat tipped and his golden ring glinted up at William in the darkness as Twigg—that traitor—ducked under the foliage, dirty skin instantly forming over skeletal rot. Not much improved, William thought savagely._

_"They ain't gonna find 'im," he sneered. "Bootstrap's smarter 'an them."_

_"Is he now?" Barbossa sounded amused—as William had come to find, the man's amusement was never anything to laugh at. "Still carry a torch for your old friends, Mister Twigg?"_

_Twigg snorted. "Not even a stick o' tinder."_

_William, somehow, resisted the urge to crack his knuckles. He looked away from Twigg's sneer and focused instead on Barbossa. The mutinous first mate, now captain of the Black Pearl, was standing still—but his foot was tapping with irritation. _

_"I felt 'im," he spat. When Twigg and Bo'sun exchanged dubious glances, Barbossa snarled. "All of ye felt 'im, and don't dare tell me any different Mister Twigg." He straightened his hat in a huff. "In that water he was, Bill Turner. So cursed are we all that all we feel is the trouble of each other and we all felt the weight of water on Bootstrap's shoulders. Heavy on our bones it dragged us _to it_. Here. To this island!" The wretched monkey dancing on his shoulder gave a gutteral cry and Barbossa paused to pet his little head. He grumbled and the monkey scurried across his back to the other shoulder. "That ingrate's on this island."_

_"Mighta been," said Twigg, "but who's to say he stayed put? Never stayed put for longer than he had to, Bootstrap didn't—"_

_"Perhaps not," griped Barbossa, "but you forget, Mister Twigg, that had he gone back into the sea we'd have felt that water bear down on us till we bore down on the cursed brigand and fished him from it! And you heard the harborman!"_

_Twigg scowled. "I don't speak no Spanish."_

_Barbossa snorted. "No boats to go out and ours the only ship's sailed in for weeks."_

_"He had nowhere else to go," growled Bo'sun. "No way off this land!"_

_Twigg looked between the two more imposing men of the three of them and bit back on whatever else he might have had to say. Silent though he was, William longed to punch him in his twisted mouth. He held back, his head heavy with all the thoughts in it. Would Barbossa stay ashore, slaying innocents, till he found who he'd come hunting? Would he lose patience and leave only to return time and time again to wreak havoc on the poor people who'd done no wrong? If William turned himself over—_

_"Cap'n Barbossa!"_

"…and Ella Groves and Sarah Norrington will call on us all the time…"

_William bit back a groan of impatience—the same one Barbossa did nothing to hide as the lanky skeleton of Ragetti loped into view. Flesh formed around his off-kilter grin as behind him came the sounds of a struggle. Garbled curses followed spirited spittings of Spanish._

_"Oi, poppet! Watch where you're spouting!"_

_A woman was shoved unceremoniously through the fronds of the palm, stout Pintel wiping his skeletal face as he followed. In the other hand was aimed a pistol for the woman's heart. William held his breath, staring down at the one who'd been the first to see him. He remembered her black eyes—the ones so much like those of Neris and Lauralee—widening on sight of him, an Englishman standing ashore with no way to have gotten there. As strange as he imagined the sight had been, his dripping with salty sea, he did not remember the fear that he now saw in her eyes._

_"Cap'n," said Ragetti, "she's the one saw Bootstrap first!"_

_"That she be," said Pintel proudly. "Thought ye'd like to have a chat wiv her." He winced, one fleshy hand still rubbing at the spot where his skin had covered the spit on his skull. "Mind ye keep watch though—she's got dead aim wiv that filthy spithole o' hers!"_

_Barbossa paid the portly pirate no heed, stepping forward to fix the woman with a lecherous look that ended him up with a gob of spit sparkling between his eyes. They narrowed and his hands shot out to grab her by the shoulders. Air hissed through his nose as he shook her and then he launched into a storm of Spanish words that burned even William's ears. The woman matched him word for word until Barbossa threw her off snarling._

_Ragetti caught her around the ribs, staggering under her weight. Skin and bones he fell into his stout friend, whose foul mouth filled the air with the stench of expletives, and cried out as her heel struck his shin. Ragetti released her but Bo'sun had already stormed forward. With one hand he took her by the throat and smiled wide as her eyes went round with terror._

_William's fist curled around a coconut as he stared down at the scene below remembering the same look on Jack Sparrow's face the last time he'd been as helpless. Cursing himself, and then remembering he was cursed, Bootstrap Bill Turner looked across the tops of the trees to gauge the distance. If he made himself known to distract them and leapt from one to the other…_

_A glance down found Bo'sun releasing the woman. She staggered back gasping for breath. Leering at her, Twigg snatched Pintel's pistol and with it cracked her across the back of the head. Barbossa cackled with laughter as she fell to her knees. With one finger he tipped up her chin._

_"Entrega, musaraña." A breeze rustled the palm fronds and moonlight filtered through them. Seemingly unaware of his own flesh shrinking away, Barbossa studied her frightened face. "Odiaría tener que…destruir una cara tan bonita."_

_The woman gasped and reached up to fight him off but the bones of Barbossa's hand were faster than hers. He caught her wrist without so much as a glance. They stared at each other for a matter of moments, the undead monkey dancing impatiently on Barbossa's shoulder. A distracted glance up over his bony head she spared the monkey, but William held his breath as without warning her gaze met his. Quickly she looked to Barbossa who had only reason to believe she'd been staring at the monkey._

_"¿Para qué desea, esqueleto?"_

_"Sabe lo que deseo," Barbossa hissed. "¡Era primer para verlo!"_

_"Ay dios, esqueleto¿era el primer para ver quién!"_

_"¿Quién?" Barbossa shifted from one foot to the other, apparently having gone as impatient as his pet. "El hombre sin un barco—¡lo vio¡De sus ojos lo vio!" He snarled, showing his teeth. "¡Dígame donde está o no tendrá ojos a ver!"_

_"¿Qué?"_

_Barbossa nodded up at Ragetti, who blinked stupidly back. His wooden eye rolled in its socket, eliciting from the woman a gasp that put a grin on Hector Barbossa's face. "¡Ahora dígame donde está!"_

_"¡No se!"_

_"¿Qué¿No sabe?"_

_Again they regarded each other, the woman gazing wide-eyed up into the gnarled face of the cursed captain. Moonlight passed over his face, taking with it the crinkling flesh of his brow. Beneath exposed bone gleamed Barbossa's narrow yellow eyes._

_"Lo vi en la arboleda," she said after a time. "Él construía un barco." Her pulse throbbed in her throat as her gaze fell from Barbossa's. "Volví a mi aldea y no lo vi otra vez."_

_William didn't know what she'd said but he'd spotted the lie and waited on baited breath to see if Barbossa had. If so, well, he could not sit idly by yet again—he would have to—_

_"What's she sayin?"_

_Barbossa glared at Twigg but nodded and stepped back from the woman. He turned to follow his disappointed men but stopped and cast a sharp eye over his shoulder as she rose shakily to her feet. "Si él vuelve, le veremos otra vez musaraña."_

_"No puedo esperar," she spat at his retreating back. When it became apparent from the abation of noise from the village that the cursed men were not returning, she spun on her heel and marched to the trunk of the tree. William had scarce a moment before she'd climbed up to glare at him. "El tesoro de Cortez," she spat. "You took it."_

_William raised his brows at her. "How do you know that?"_

_"It is mito, leyendo… an old story among my people." She looked him up and down, frowning at his fleshly form that was not maladied by the moonlight. "You are maldecido. A cursed man, like them."_

_"I am not," he said, "like them."_

_"¿Quiénes son? What is your name?" Her dark eyes narrowed. "They call you Bootstraps."_

_"Aye," he said. "They call me Bootstrap Bill."_

_"They call you… it is then not your name?"_

_"If you tell me your name," he said, resting his weary head upon a bunch of coconuts. He closed his eyes. "I shall tell you mine."_

_"An accord with a pirate," she spat. "I'm to trust you, you who is maldecido with the maldición de los dioses Aztecas?"_

_"Ye don't have to trust me." By the way his head jerked aside, William guessed he'd been slapped. He opened his eyes, thinking sadly that it was at least one part of the curse Jack Sparrow could have done with, and glared at the fuming woman before him. "That was both uncalled for and useless. I feel nothing."_

_"You feel your heart or you would be cruel like them."_

_"Thought I was like them?"_

_The woman huffed and looked up to the moon. It was big and bright in her eyes even though its light did not touch the either of them. William glanced down at the pipe tucked in his pocket and lamented that lighting it would do him no good._

_"You are not like them so much, Bootstraps."_

_He sighed. "It's William."_

_"And I am Isobel."_

_"Well Isobel," he said, "it's been nice meeting you. But it seems the threat has gone and so should you. Back to your village. Before your husband—su esposo—comes looking for you."_

_Isobel laughed, a deep intoxicating sound that seemed to warm her black eyes. She tilted her head, a dark curtain of glossy hair cloaking her bare shoulder, and smiled slyly at him. "Tengo no esposo. He is dead. Le mató y buena fortuna. He was not so nice to me."_

_"Just left him to rot, did you?"_

_"He deserves it," she said darkly. "But what of you? You are rotting under your skin as we speak."_

_William tensed, thinking of his own wife. He nodded. "And I deserve to rot as well."_

_Isobel regarded him for a time, a question in her dark eyes that William refused to answer. When he turned away she shrugged. "Well you have done me no harm, William. Venido a mi casa. Come to my house with me. I know you do not need to sleep but you should have a place to…" she trailed off, dark eyes gleaming with mischief, "…rest your bones."_

"…but I'm sure Mother would make room for you. Or," the boy said brightly, "you could stay aboard the _Swan_! It was Da's birthday present—"

"The _Swan_?" William squinted out at the ship and her darker counterpart. "That her name?"

"Oh aye," said his grandson, nodding. "Took it right from your words. They're hanging up on the wall." His eyes went wide with awe. "We thought you dead."

"You were right." He ignored the boy's incredulous look and took a long drag off the pipe. Out at the _Pearl_ he gazed, thinking of the time he'd spent with Isobel as a cursed man. "I was dead."

* * *

"What have you kept from me?" 

Frowning, Jack hesitated. True enough it was that the man in question was no longer a memory to honor—sitting ashore alive afterall—but he'd made clear to Sam Samson what he had not wanted Will to hear about his father. The truth, as it were, would in his opinion do more damage than that which was already done and as much as he wished to throttle the man responsible for it, he did not wish to see Will Turner bludgeoned by the blunt end of the sword he'd been handed all his life. It was, Jack thought, one of the reasons why Will was forever making sharp the blade—

"Jack!"

It was one of the reasons why Jack had grit his teeth and bore the pain of revisiting the place where William Turner had stowed his boots. It had seemed the time to show Will rather than tell him what sort of man his father had been—a good man that Jack had held fond despite their differences. Now, however, it seemed yet again that he, Jack, had been the fool. How glad he'd been to see Will Turner glow with pride at the thought of his father—but then William had shown up to shatter whatever fragile progress his boy had made in forgiving him and to ruin what Jack had thought would be, for Will, the treasure of treasures.

"Tell me the truth!"

Will leapt from his chair. It had scarcely crashed to the floor when strong hands clamped onto Jack's shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Samson start forward, but Jack made no move to defend himself as Will's demanding hands shook his shoulders.

"You've kept things from me, things I deserve to know!"

"Will," he said, "no one deserves—"

Jack found himself pushed—shoved—away. He winced as his back cracked _Pearl'_s mast. If Will was anything he was strong—and when the man was angry it seemed that all the force of his fury fed his strength. Spine-tingling pain licked Jack's insides, but it was nothing compared to the dull ache in his gut when he found he was the focus of Will's furious glare. Hurt showed itself suddenly and as Will dropped his head, Jack saw Samson's huge hand reaching for him.

"Out!" Green eyes wide with surprise met his and Jack glared into them. "Done enough tonight, haven't you?"

Samson frowned as though deeply offended but dropped his hand nonetheless and with the other gave Will what was for him a gentle pat on the shoulder. Jack ignored the pained look Samson spared him. The Scotsman walked heavily away and when the doors slammed shut Jack sighed.

"He didn't deserve that."

"Right," said Jack, feeling more than slightly irritated, "then he's in good company, isn't he?" He pried Will's fingers from his person and held the man at arm's length, trying with some difficulty to find the gaze refusing to meet his whilst supporting the man whose knees seemed to be giving out. "Will—" he broke off as Will sagged against him and grumbled when he heard sniffles being snuffled into his shirt. "Oh, alright. Tween you and your beloved, lad, I may not have to launder a shirt again. The both of you could weep my wardrobe clean, you know."

Jack's weak attempt at humor failed, Will weeping more openly on one of the shoulders he'd more than likely bruised. Jack winced but his discomfort was not due the undue injury. Considering saying something was, unfortunately, out of the question—much as he hated to admit it, if he were to take that approach he would more than likely end up saying something… stupid. Out of options, and again cursing William Turner, Jack brought an arm up around Will and held the man steady. If it had been the right thing to do Jack couldn't tell, not really sure if Will's clinging to him as if his life depended on it was a bad thing or good. Either way, he hadn't much choice in the matter and so he bit his cheek, lifted his gaze to the blackened beams of the ceiling, and waited for Will's tears to subside.

They didn't but the man did regain his strength, tensing in Jack's embrace. The pirate shared his panic and let go. Will staggered back. A hand went up to pinch his brow as he turned away. Jack hesitated, unsure if he should assure the man that all men sometimes suffered the indignity of tears or if he should quietly allow him his shame. In the end he held his tongue but clearing his throat was no choice of his own—it had gone painfully tight watching Will Turner's suffering.

"Did we not do this before?"

Will sniffed and swiped at his reddened face with a fist. "You didn't deserve that either." He hesitated swiping at his nose. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"Sorry?" Jack fished a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it. A moment later it was handed back to him soaked and he wrinkled his nose and tossed it hurriedly aside. "Well that makes no sense lad, for you see—a sorry man usually has something to be sorry for and if either of us men is to be the sorriest I would think it should be me." He frowned at his own blundering words and worked them out in his head so that he could clarify if need be. "Who is sorry." When Will looked at him, face swollen with his weeping, he winced. "Though you do look to be in a sorrier state."

Will tried to scowl, but gave up at some point to settle for a frown. "Are you sorry?"

Jack scoffed. "I did say _should be_," he said, "but I'm not." He held up a hand to quell any complaints. "I'm not sorry for doing what I thought was right by you, Will—for doing my best to make up for the worst."

"It was not your place."

"Pardon me, dear Will, but it most certainly was my place. There were few men who knew your father, fewer men who knew him well as I, and I the only one you knew. If not mine then whose place was it to give you the father you never had?"

"Pardon me, _Captain_," shot Will, "but as I recall I did all but offer you that place—and you refused to take it!"

Accusatory words they were, and Jack staggered under their weight as he and Will glared at each other. It was not a new argument by any means but one he'd thought they'd resolved. Of course he'd thought a lot of things, hadn't he? He'd thought Ahku Khar great great and Bootstrap dead…

"Do you ever listen to me?"

Will scowled. "Have I ever a been given the choice of another option?"

"No," said Jack, eyes narrowing at the impudence, "but you seem accomplished in the making of your own outs whether or not they've been offered to you. Very well, then—have it your way: listen to me if you can, but if you can't—I'll say it despite. There were the things I could do—speak well of your father, offer my friendship—and the things I couldn't do. I couldn't take his place because it was not my place to take. Though I daresay I've taken his share of your anger whether or not I deserved it," he mused, frowning as Will's scowl turned inward. "Unimportant—the point is, Will, that I couldn't be your father because you already had one—but I _could_ give him to you—"

"You needn't have bothered, Jack," Will cut in. "He'd already given of himself—silence, and absence. Afterall, those are the things he is best at."

"Can't deny that," Jack said, "but in his silence and in his absence, William did little to show you anything else of himself. A shame if ever there was, but he didn't see it that way—"

"Shocked," Will said coolly.

Jack couldn't help it—he had reached out and knocked Will across the back of his head before he had otherwise thought it through. When Will's glare snapped at him, though, he found that he'd at last done something the right way. "Wasn't much to my liking either but it was the way it was! Your father in his honesty knew more of himself than I think he would have liked to know—men don't like to admit to their faults but William—honest William—hadn't a choice in the matter. As it happens he was far more skilled than you at giving himself an out. Most of his misery he wrote—"

"Didn't seem all that downtrodden in his journal."

"No," said Jack, "and he wouldn't have. Worst was burnt soon as he wrote it. It was not uncommon to see your father sitting just as he is now—alone on a beach beside a fire. If he had a piece of parchment he'd be burning it. More oft than not pages at a time went up sparking in the flames—and he watched, always, until the last fell to ash."

"Why, then, don't there seem to be pages missing? None have been taken from the tome."

Jack gripped his own arms to draw on strength he hadn't and took a deep breath for good measure. "Because," he said warily, "what he knew he'd burn—and he always did—was unbound. Free of binding, the pages could do no damage to the book because he'd never have to tear them from it." He hated the way Will's gaze darkened, but had no choice but to go on. "Something free from the tethers of attachment surely couldn't be harmed if what was never part of it was taken, savvy?"

"That is," seethed Will, "the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard! A book cannot know if pages belonging to it were never put there, but I knew always what was missing!" He looked away. "And there was harm done."

"Aye and that's what I tried to tell your father—too often for his liking." Jack tried not to notice the wounded look on Will's face but the attempt was in vain. He winced. "I tried to tell you that no one deserves to hear this—least not you—but you'd have none of it so here it is: your father did not want his place in your life."

It was perhaps the cruelest thing Jack had ever said to someone, and he loathed seeing it cut as deep as he knew it would. He despised the man sitting out on the island for the way Will's brow wavered and crunched against the tears that brightened his eyes, for the way those eyes full of tears blinked and went blank, and for the way all of it came about in the first place. Mostly though, he felt miserable for Will.

"What did I do?" He looked up at Jack questioningly. "I must have done something wrong!"

"Was more that _you'd _done _nothing_ wrong and so your father feared all _he'd_ done wrong would come back to haunt _you_—and your mother. A good girl she was, Lauralee… too good for him, he thought." Jack swayed in memory, missing the way Will's eyes narrowed on him. "But she didn't think so."

"You knew my mother."

"How could I not? Captain of the ship your father sailed on and if there's any one duty the captain of a ship dreads, it's the answering to the wives his sailors haven't returned to. Even the gales can be reasoned with but women made wives? There's no tack that works." A small smile tugged at Will Turner's mouth and Jack paused for his reluctance to see it disappear. "Better to surrender to their will than fight what can't be fought, eh?"

"To fight an angered wife would be a losing battle," Will agreed, but his smile fell on its own and his eyes went dark with suspicion. "My mother came looking for him?"

"No," Jack said tiredly. "Your mother came looking for me."

"For you?"

"Well why not?" He shrugged. "After _Pearl_'d been moored a few days all the other wives came calling on the captain to ask why it was they had not seen hyde nor hair of their husbands—why not your mother as well? Aye your mother paid me many a visit but nev—"

"How often did you put into port so close to us?"

"More than coincidence could possibly account for."

"But—why meddle in the life of one man when it sounds as if most of your men were much the same?"

"_Because_," Jack said, with more patience than he had, "I don't like to watch friends make mistakes and your father, Will, was my dearest friend who made the damnedest mistakes!"

"Spare me, Jack—you'd help your dearest friends escape anything they did not wish to face. Why did you not simply grant my father his wish to not be part of our lives? Why try to help my mother instead?"

"_Because your mother never asked why_!" Jack had gone on his toes to snarl with all his might and, as Will cowered away, felt foolish for having been brought to such anger. He let his heels drop back to the floor. "Only request she ever had was that I saw to your father's safety." He sighed and laid a hand o'er his heart. "Think I loved her for that."

Will's brows lifted. "Jack—"

"Loved your father, she did," he spoke over Will, "so much that it took what of her heart didn't belong to you. Her lads, she called the both of you. She'd look at you, then—and whether or not your big brown eyes weregazing up at heror closed in sleep, that's when her tears began to spill."

"But—"

"They may have been wasted tears," Jack said, "but I _did_ witness them—contrary to your belief." The gleam of the bottle of wine he'dnot knocked fromhis desk was too much to resist and he went to it. He took a deep drink and examined its label—seeing pieces of it but not taking any in really. "So very small you were, I wouldn't expect you to remember that. In fact I had rather hoped you didn't—"

"I _don't_."

There was a note of disbelief in Will's voice that begged Jack's attention and he turned to stare at his friend. Sure enough, doubt darkened the stare that met his. He sighed. "Honestly—what reason have I now to be dishonest?" Seeing Will consider that and come up with nothing, he shrugged. "Your father's once again done his best to get the truth from my tongue. Rich, in'nit, that the one living the biggest of lies is the one was always so very insistent that 'the truth shall set us free'?"

"I don't know what bothers me most," Will mused, sitting heavily on the edge of the desk, "that he's alive when he's supposed to be dead—or that it's that which angers me." His gaze wavered on Jack's. "Is it wrong after so long wishing him alive to wish him truly dead?"

Jack opened his mouth to answer but found he did not have one to suit him. He bit his lip and struggled to reconcile the opposing responses in his head so that he could speak one. What he ended up doing, however, was grabbing at his locks and pulling. "This," he growled, "has got to be the longest guilt trip anyone's ever taken!"

* * *

After that night William hadn't dared to leave the island—by sea or boat or ship. Oh, he'd considered it on many occasions, least not when a ship would sail in with news of the _Black Pearl_'s most merciless massacres or when he thought of the Intuits—and Neris—suffering at the hands of that cursed crew. Several times he had readied himself to leave, each time only to stare out at the horizon with boat in hand. It had seemed to him that the best way to keep that last coin—and his wife and son—hidden was to hide himself. So it was that he had simply stayed where he was. He'd kept quiet his telltale mind and stunted his Intuition to stay with Isobel. As harsh as she was when he met her, she'd grown soft on him by the time the unthinkable had happened. They had been dancing in the dunes when William felt her fingers twined with his and the cool sand beneath his feet. They had been dancing when William had gone still in the grip of fear—and guilt. Barbossa, he'd thought, had finally found that cursed coin—what horrors had they wrought on his poor Lauralee?—and spilled his son's blood. 

It was with some coaxing that Isobel had got him back to her house and there he'd collapsed shivering with all the senses he'd so long forgotten. Terrible as the experience was, though, all he had a mind for was to plot a plan to visit the ill-fortuned Isla de Muerta. It was not so far from where they were if he knew the way he thought he did and so they'd bartered some of Isobel's better ropes and nets and a wealth of weaponry—those of her late husband who, by her stories, William had learned not to mourn—for a fisherman's dory and set off in the direction he'd marked upon the map.

It had taken a few days with the wind not at their backs, and all the while Isobel had asked him to turn around for fear of what they would find waiting for them. But William had for once in his life been determined to do the right thing even if he was too little too late. He'd not done right by the boy in life—the least he could do was give his flesh and blood a proper burial in death. Without impatience he reasoned the point with Isobel each time she begged they return to their village. When finally they'd navigated the difficult pass through the rocks and buried ships, the woman had had no further objections and they had picked their way through the craggy caves toward the cavern in which William knew the chest, and Will, would be.

But as they approached the heap of treasure, holding their breath for the stink of death in the air, it was not William's son they found rotting there. It was Hector Barbossa. Relief had dropped William to his knees beside the dead man and when Isobel reached them she'd leant over the dead man and stared down into his unseeing eyes. Frozen on the man's face was the horror of failure—something William guessed had to do with only having just been brought to life to be put to death.

But who'd actually given the snake what he deserved William couldn't begin to guess. No doubt Barbossa had made more than a few enemies over the years…

He'd got to his feet and left Isobel to search the caverns for any sign of his son. Certain he was that Will had been there, for his blood had to have been spilt for Barbossa to lay dead as the heaps of gold. There was in William's mind no way that the mutinous men would have kept him around once they'd no longer needed him—so where was he? What had they done with him? There had been no sign of the lad to be found anywhere and so he'd stormed back to Barbossa's corpse and kicked it in his frustration.

When the grey coat and fancy vest had fallen aside to reveal Barbossa's bloodstained chest, Isobel had whispered the man's fate. One shot—one _momentous_ shot—had pierced Barbossa's heart. William's own heart had rattled his ribs then, his own face surely showing that same horror of failure. There was, he'd thought, only one man with momentous luck such as that and it was the one man who would not have left his son behind—

_Like I did_, he'd thought.

Having had no reason for staying any longer, they'd left. William had had a hard time of it convincing Isobel that there was no harm in collecting a few pieces of treasure for themselves. Each time William had plucked something up from the piles of swag she'd eyed the chest of cursed coins and he'd each time clucked his tongue, rolled his eyes, and stuck whatever it was he wanted in the small trunk she rather fancied.

They'd had more disagreements when William had turned the boat in the way of the closest English port. He'd won out in the end, insisting that they seek any whisper of what had happened. It had been a long month in the small settlement of suspicious colonists but his peace had finally come in the form of a merchant having been at Port Royal to witness both the safe return 'of the blacksmith and Miss Swann' and the great escape of 'that bloody bird Sparrow'. On the tide after the merchant arrived to tell his tale, William and Isobel had made their excuses for setting sail and did, he pleased with the outcome and more convinced than ever, after ten years of contemplating horrid possibilities, that it was best for all of them—Will who'd become a blacksmith in the bustling trade city of Port Royal and Jack who'd got his _Pearl_ back—if he stayed among those dead to the two women and two men he'd left behind.

Only twice in the nine years following his decision had the _Black Pearl_ stopped at their island. Both times Isobel had warned him and both times saw William hiding in their house. Both times he'd been lucky that Sparrow and his men had stayed only long enough to unload the various goods that the rich men on the hill bought from him. Both times had Isobel told William when the _Pearl_ had gone, and both times had he run to the docks to stare out at the empty horizon and watch as treasures from the Isle de Muerta were loaded up on carts to be taken to the houses of men who would have no idea that their fancy carpet had once been carried over the rotting shoulder of a cursed man.

Twice had been enough to see and hear from Jack's head—which, William had discovered, was a difficult place to put oneself for an extended amount of time—that which he wished to know. Glimpses of Neris welcoming Jack with open arms had mingled with the hazy sound of a young man's voice telling the pirate, who seemed not to want to hear what the lad was saying, of his reason for making the crossing from England—after his mother had died. Not wishing to begin to guess why Sparrow was thinking of _his_ Neris welcoming him back to the island in the same thread as was stored the memory of _his_ Lauralee—whose pretty dark eyes flashed in on the thoughts and glowed in a way William hadn't liked—William had abandoned his quest for another, seeking out Jack's memory for one look at his son.

It had been a mistake—seeing the man he'd never meant to call his son had in one heartbeat made him wish that he had and in the next that he'd not sought out even a glimpse of Will Turner. He'd left Jack's mind right then but it had been too late—the image of the man none could argue was his son had burned itself into his own memory. For a moment it had put him off his heels—seeing Will gazing up at him with the light of admiration in his eyes. But then William had realized… that it wasn't he Will was looking up to, but Jack Sparrow. And as much as he knew he hadn't a right to be pickled over it… well, the very thought had soured him. Later, after confessing his mind games to the only one he'd had to listen, Isobel had tried to appeal to his sensible side to no avail.

_Fine then_, he'd thought, _the both of you have done so well without me, have each other_. He'd had himself a spot of rum and gone off to sleep. On the next morning he'd forced the whole thing—which he'd started to feel guilty about with good reason—to the back of his mind and went about living his life with Isobel.

Worry had crept over him from time to time. Oft it was too vivid to ignore and in those times he abandoned his decision to close his mind and opened it to find himself whirling in the midst of Jack Sparrow's or Will Turner's night horrors. Awful they were, sometimes so much that William had to heave against them with all his might to get the men back to a peaceful state of slumber. It gave him some rest to realize from the sequence of Will's dreams that his son thought him only a dream's imagination. For a time he had believed Jack did not even take notice to his presence, but then the pirate had begun calling out to him. At first he'd resisted Jack's want to speak with him, but in time it seemed that the struggle with the man's torrential nightmares so wore him down that he could not find his way back out. William had no other choice then but to meet him in the dreamscape of his own mind, Jack begging answers to questions William could not, being alive, lay to rest.

So many headaches it had given him. He'd wake with a groan and Isobel had, each time, told him how foolish a game he was playing. Jack, she'd said, was not a fool like most men and would find out sooner or later that William was no more a ghost than he. Jack, she'd said, would react as any man would in such a situation and loathe William for all the trouble he'd caused.

Never had he dreamed, not so long ago from the night he sat on the beach with the boy that was his grandson, that seeing the green beacon out on the horizon would lead him where it had. If he'd had even the slightest inkling Sparrow, who had always scoffed at the tale of the lost island of Antolune and its Ahku Neko Neko Khar, would catch the same wind to the same spot he, William, would not have fought tooth and nail to get to it. Isobel hadn't been accommodating—in fact, she'd not only refused to accompany him, she'd also spirited away the sails of their sloop in an effort to thwart his going alone.

_"That's well and good," he growled at her, "but it will only serve to make difficult my journey because it is one I have to take."_

_"Bueno. Good for you—try to row all that way, Corazón. I shall laugh when you return tired and weary—but only because I do not wish to see you face such troubles as surely wait you."_

_"Do you not understand the forces of fate, woman?"_

_"Sí," she whispered, taking his loose plait of hair in her hand, "and I fear them. What if it is the hand of your priestess at play? What if she has learned you live and wishes to see you?"_

_"Neris?" He glowered. "Were Neris to know I live, she'd only wish to see me long enough to rip each and every strand of hair from my scalp. Is she really what you're worried about?"_

_"No. What I worry of, mi miedo, is what act of revenge she might wish on you—and that says nothing of the illwill of any of the cursed souls of los esqueletos! What if it is a trick¿Una esquema?"_

_"And what if it's not?"_

_"Aiii—row yourself then, Corazón!"_

_"I want the sails, Isobel."_

_"You may want them all you like."_

_So when she'd gone in silence to bed, he'd gone to their sloop and he'd taken up the oars and…_

And now he was sitting on an island he'd found sunk in the sea, thanks to the illwill of one cursed soul as his woman had rightly predicted, with the boy who was his grandson and who was looking at him as if he had a million questions that William had no intention of even attempting to answer. He took a long, heady drag on the pipe and considered his options. It seemed to him… that if he couldn't answer the questions posed to him… the best tack was to be the one asking the questions.

"With so much to say it seems you have forgotten to tell me your name, son. What is it?"

The boy beamed, apparently glad at having been asked so stupendous a question. "My name," he said proudly, "is Jack William Turner."

_Jack. Of course it is. What else would it be?_ "Well Jack William Turner," he said, blowing out a string of smoke rings, "do you not think it wise we part ways for this evening? Afterall I feel it's a sure bet that you of all your nine years did not have your mother's good graces coming to shore all by yer onesies, am I right?"

"Well no, but—"

"_Ah ah ah_, no buts—think of all the fuss if you're discovered amiss, son." He quirked a brow at the lad who, to his credit, did look like he was thinking on that thought with a certain amount of dread. "Ye wouldn't want that, now would ye?"

"No," said Jack dazedly, "not so much." He snapped out of it, shaking his head. "But—I don't want to go back, I want to stay here with you."

Blast. William grit his teeth as he tapped out the pipe. It wasn't that he didn't want the company of the boy—he'd found he had actually enjoyed it before he'd started thinking of all his mistakes—but he did not want to bring the wrath of a wronged man, or two or three counting Samson, down on his grandson which was like to happen if any of them discovered the two of them together.

"There is always tomorrow."

With quite a sigh, Jack acquiesced to the request he return to the ship. William helped him guide the boat out into the calm waters. He held it steady as the boy hopped in and then glinting eyes met his with a last question.

"Am I to call you Bootstrap?"

William bit the curse on the tip of his tongue and decided it mattered little in the long run what he answered. "If ye like…"

"I'd like to call you Grandpop."

For that William hadn't the need to bite his tongue to stay silent. Incredulity did the trick well enough he found. Staring down at Jack William Turner, into those golden eyes gleaming up at him so hopefully, William also found he hadn't much choice in the matter afterall. He sighed and patted the lad on the head. "Grandpop it is then."

* * *

In all Jack's excitement—he'd just spoken to his Grandpop, fancy that—he could not think of much else but Bootstrap. So it was that when his boat tapped the side of the ship he did not notice, nor did he notice immediately the ends of rope that clunked heavily in front of him. When he did, however, he gasped and jerked his head up to see what fate awaited him. 

Three like faces, one gaunt, hovered over the rail.

Jack gave a sigh of relief and tied the boat's ends in the way he knew how, glad for the help of the Intuits as he had not considered on leaving just how he was going to get the boat back in place. He sat back and let them hoist him up. The one that was too thin offered him a hand and he took it with an oath of thanks.

"Does he have it?"

Jack frowned up at the priest, none too sure what he'd just been asked. "Have what?"

The priest regarded him closely and Jack thought he heard a murmur of strange words but he couldn't be sure. There was a tickle in his head and he scratched at it, for some reason feeling it was the Intuit's fault. He glared up at him and the itch went away with the murmur gone silent.

"You're going to tattle, aren't you?"

The priest and his brethren exchanged glances. Jack looked between them, dread weighing heavy in his gut at the thought of his father finding out he'd broke their code of conduct. Worse was the thought of his mother's sharp words at such a discovery. Missus Turner's rebuke was always the worser fate and one Jack hoped to avoid at all costs.

"We will not," spoke the three men together.

Jack's heart lifted and he gave them a grin. "Many thanks, mates. Have I sand on my person?" When they answered that he did not, Jack turned to go but decided better he ask at least one more question. "Has mum set up a search for me?"

They shook their heads and so he was off. He found her telling a tale of mermaids and princes to Little Lucy and felt almost guilty when she smiled, so glad to see him. Almost, but not quite, he thought, snuggling into bed and hoping for a good night's sleep that would give him rest enough to sneak off again the next evening for another chat with Bootstrap Bill Turner.

* * *

_**  
Author's Babble: **There's some Spanish in this bit. I know the language but it's possible I've garbled it since it's been quite a time since I've had to use it…_

_**Spanish**: "Entrega, musaraña(_Surrender, shrew_)… Odiaría tener que…destruir una cara tan bonita(_I would hate to have to destroy so pretty a face

_"¿Para qué desea, esqueleto?(_For what do you wish, skeleton

_"Sabe lo que deseo,(_you know what I want_)" Barbossa hissed. "¡Era primer para verlo(_you were the first to see him

_"Ay dios, esqueleto¿era el primer para ver quién!(_I was the first to see who

_"¿Quién?(_Who_?)" Barbossa shifted from one foot to the other, apparently having gone as impatient as his pet. "El hombre sin un barco—¡lo vio¡De sus ojos lo vio!(_The man without a boat—you saw him! With your eyes you saw him_!)" He snarled, showing his teeth. "¡Dígame donde está o no tendrá ojos a ver!(_Tell me where he is or you will not have eyes to see

_"¿Qué?(_What

_"¡Ahora dígame donde está!(_Now tell me where he is

_"¡No se!(_I don't know

_"¿Qué¿No sabe?(_What? You don't know

_"Lo vi en la arboleda(_I saw him in the woods_)," she said after a time. "Él construía un barco(_He built a boat_)." Her pulse throbbed in her throat as her gaze fell from Barbossa's. "Volví a mi aldea y no lo vi otra vez(_I returned to my village and I did not see him again

_"Si él vuelve, le veremos otra vez musaraña(_If he does return, we will see you again shrew

_"No puedo esperar(_I can't wait

_With William: El tesoro de Cortez(_the treasure of Cortez_)… it is mito, leyendo(_it is myth, legend_)…you are maldecido(_you are cursed_)… ¿Quiénes son?(_who are you_?)… you who is maldecido with the maldición de los dioses Aztecas(_you who is cursed with the curse of the Aztec gods_)… Tengo no esposo(_I have no husband_)… Le mató y buena fortuna(_they killed him and what good fortune_)… Venido a mi casa(_Come to my house

_And later…Bueno(_Good_)…try to row all that way, Corazón(_Heart_)…Sí(_yes_)… What I worry of, mi miedo(_my fear_)… cursed souls of los esqueletos(_the skeletons_)…¿Una esquema(_a ploy

_Phew, tedious._


	40. Birds of a Feather

When the sun rose high on the day after and the captain still hadn't made his appearance on deck much to the aggravation of the waiting crewmen, Anamaria and Gibbs found they had no other choice but to find out what was keeping him. They burst into the captain's quarters but stopped short on seeing the place in shambles with no visible sign of the captain of the _Black Pearl_ save for his friend snoozing quietly sprawled across the desk. Gibbs muttered something about inkstains that Ana chose to ignore as they cautiously approached.

In the glow of the afternoon Will Turner was bathed in a golden light that seemed off-kilter in the midst of the mess that had been made. One parchment clung to the boot that dangled off the desk's edge, a haphazard pile of others cast in its shadow on the floor. True enough it was that a feathered quill was stuck with a bit of dried ink to the smith's open palm though it seemed, to Anamaria's amusement, that Will Turner had been stained more by the slosh of wine from the sideways bottle clutched in his other hand.

Darker of the two cats lapped at the sticky red substance pooled under the man's elbow. The fairer feline seemed to take no interest in the goings on from her place curled around Turner's head. Eyes closed she dozed in the warmth of the sun.

Will, however, had seemed to sense the presence of the pirates staring down at him. He cracked open an eye and shut it immediately with a wince. A groan later and he groped at his sticky elbow. Feel of fur forced him to frown at the spot and then he squinted up at the faces no doubt swimming before his eyes.

"Whas—where'mI—wha'mIdoin?"

Gibbs gave a grunt of amusement and Anamaria snickered. "Appears ya took a cat nap."

Will grumbled something unintelligible and struggled to sit up. "M'still drunk? Bthawaslasnigh…" His eyes crossed with the effort of speaking and he laid a hand over his gut, taking no notice to the quill feather fluttering there. "Guh."

Anamaria rolled her eyes. "Where's Jack?"

"Aye," said Gibbs, "and what the devil's gone on here?"

Between the both of them Will looked and then he took in the shambles of the captain's quarters. His wary gaze picked across the floor that was littered with various instruments, shards of glass, splinters of wood, and a wide assortment of emptied bottles and jugs. His brow lifted and a flicker of a smirk crossed his face.

"S'not obvious?"

Ana snorted. "More like Sparrow than either of ya think, Turner. _Where's Jack_?"

Will's brows met in consternation. His face screwed up in thought and then relaxed with a shrug. "Dunno."

"Don't much care for coconuts," came Jack's muffled voice, "been dropped on me head a time too many."

Gibbs and Anamaria exchanged a glance. Against their advice Will leaned over the side of the desk to peer cautiously under it. He lost his balance and landed with a thump on the beringed hand sticking out. There was a cry of alarm and a terrible thunk on wood sounded.

"That," came Jack's weary voice, "was a heavy one."

"Jack," Will whispered into the space under the desk that Ana and Gibbs couldn't see, "whayedoinun'ner'ere?"

"Will?"

"Aye?"

There was silence then a snort of laughter. "Wha' was that you were singin about?"

Will frowned, tapping the corner of his mouth in thought. His eyes narrowed and then he, too, snorted. "Limes and coconuts."

Jack's laugh echoed under the desk and then it stopped abruptly. "Sing it again."

Anamaria moved to put a stop to this nonsense but Gibbs grabbed her arm. She turned to glare at him but his blue eyes twinkled at her so merrily that she couldn't help but give her own grin. The sailor waggled his brows and they turned as one to watch. Will, who in his stupor seemed not to care they were present to witness this show of stupidity, nodded at the pirate captain they couldn't see and opened his mouth—and hands, quill quivering—to sing.

"_You put the lime in the coconut and_," Will shook like a leaf, "_shake them altogether_—"

"_Put the lime in the coconut and then they'll taste better_—" Jack's voice cracked with laughter as Will's overenthusiastic hands began to squeeze the air. "_Squeeze the lime in the milk and then you drink them down together_—"

"_With the lime in the coconut you'll feel light as a feather_," sang Will, "_so put that lime in the coconut, and chug them down together_!"

"Ey," Jack's voice cut in, "'stead of lime, could ye use rum?"

Will's hands paused in midair and he frowned. "Rum?"

"Aye, lad," said Jack, "rum."

Will shrugged. "You can _put the rum in the coconut and_—"

Jack laughed. "_Shake them altogether, put the rum in the coconut and then they'll taste better. Pour the rum in the milk and then you drink them down together_—"

"_With the rum in the coconut you'll feel light as a feather, so put that rum in the coconut and chug them down together_!"

Gibbs snickered.

"Is that—do I hear—" there was a scramble that sent Will backwards and Jack's head popped up from behind the desk. A wide grin blessed his face. "Gibbs! Anamaria! Glorious day!"

Anamaria snorted. "And what's so glorious about it?"

"_Today_," Jack stated with gusto, "we are on holiday on the isle of mirth which lies in the sea of merriment!"

"Jack," she said tiredly, "ya can't afford a wasted day! Stores are running low!"

"Aye," Gibbs added, "and that's with Cook been stretchin it."

Jack's mirth faded fast and he frowned up at them. "How much of a stretch before we snap?"

"By last count?" Anamaria sat on the desk, avoiding the sticky wine, and scratched Cinder between the ears. The cat purred appreciatively and pushed its nose at her hand. She smiled and complied with the petting, looking over the swishing tail at her captain. "Eight days'll be the end of our rope."

Jack grimaced.

"Aye," Gibbs agreed, "escapin the noose'll mean making quick to the closest port o' call, Cap'n."

"Fuego," Sparrow supplied. "Isla de Fuego, s'not far off. Small though, as is its market… but we've friends on the hill haven't we? Hmm."

"Haven't been to see 'em for a time though, Jack," Gibbs reminded him. "Could be they've found new friends."

"And?" Their captain shrugged. "If so we'll wait for another ship to sail in and woo new friends of our own." Despite his easy tone, Jack made a face of disgust and sighed. "Right then, I s'pose it's off to Antolune we go." His eyes lit on the quill still quivering on Will's hand and he plucked it off tsking. "Birds of a feather, eh?"

Will scowled but soon off to Antolune they did go. Boat by boat they went ashore to pick over the island and pluck its worth from the silver shores, pebbled pathways, and the deep, dark jungle. Captain Jack Sparrow seemed pleased as punch to have Will Turner back at his side for the exploration, and Will Turner seemed just as glad to be there. There was no contention among them even when Isaac Faust made their company. Spirits lifted and if there was anyone glad of it it was Sam Samson.

Jack's accusation the night before had stung him and he'd made his sullen way back to the _Swan_ where the trio of Intuit priests had been huddling in the shadows. After having decided that whatever they were up to was none his business, just as Will wasn't, he'd lumbered off to the quiet captain's quarters. No one had bothered him—not even wee Jack who was usually the sort to bound into view soon as one stepped into the lad's line of sight—as he made a line for the captain's cabin. The Witter woman had slept soundly on the chaise and Samson had in the end hunkered down on the balcony cushions. When he'd woke at the crack of dawn there'd been no sign of any one of them, his shipmates most likely taking breakfast in the galley, and so he'd rowed off to shore watching the lone figure there retreat into the woods. That had been fine and dandy, he'd thought angrily. All day after he'd kept to himself and the fishes—many of which the bespectacled Cook of the _Black Pearl _had already bartered away for Jacky's crew—in hopes of his presence not making the mess it had aboard the _Pearl_.

When Jacky's low apology had rung out behind him though, Samson's green eyes had filled with happiness and two great tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he turned to nod at the man. He'd offered a pole and Jack had taken it. There they sat for what seemed hours, waiting for a tug on the lines while Isaac and Will flayed fish already caught behind them.

None of them, though, knew narrow eyes were watching them. Yards behind them William hid amongst the trees. He leaned heavily on one's trunk as he squinted at the four companions. For a time he entertained the idea of joining them in silence—but the thought of the look on Will's and Jack's faces kept him far enough away. When the sun began to sink he turned his back on them to make through the jungle once again.

Jack Sparrow, at the water's edge, heard the flapping of wings and turned to stare over his shoulder at the disturbance in the trees. Birds were hopping from branch to branch, a veritable flock of plumage retreating into the foliage. Some took flight and disappeared into the dark jungle altogether. Jack's brows met as he considered them but there was a hard tug on his line that distracted him. Within seconds the pole was bent nearly double and Jack was bent back trying to keep hold of it. He gnashed his teeth with the effort.

"It's a really big fish," he growled over his shoulder at his laughing companions.

Samson leapt up and squinted out at where Jack's line disappeared into the waves. He dug a long spear from the sand and heaved it at the spot. A second later the line went slack and the two of them dragged the slain fish in.

"A swordie," Samson said. "By the gods, Jacky! You've some luck on yer side!"

"S'not luck," Will offered, a sly smile on his face. "Haven't you heard, Sam? All the sea creatures _acclimate to Jack's presence_."

Jack shot him a look. "Aye—that they do," he agreed. But his thoughts returned to the birds' retreat and he bit hard on his tongue so as not to speak what thoughts plagued him. _And the birds flock to your father._

"What'll we do with this thing," Isaac asked of the swordfish. He made a face as Samson withdrew the spear, its release making a sick sucking sound. "Well, that's a start."

Jack patted Faust comfortingly on the shoulder. Will laughed then stood to gather the buckets of flayed fishes. Though green around the edges, Isaac took a few off his hands and they followed the two pirates carrying the swordfish along the water's edge. When they rounded the bend and came into sight of the crew a cheer rose up. Cook, outfit with a knotty walking stick, made it to them first and when Roth and Lemmy took down the fish from Samson's and Jack's shoulders began inspecting it carefully. His eyes lit up behind his spectacles and he poked the silver sand excitedly with his stick.

"A feast fit for a King!"

"Indeed," Jack said. "Best find my crown!"

Will and Isaac snorted but were well put later on the _Pearl_ when Cotton approached with a golden duo of scepter and crown. Emeralds gleamed as Jack accepted the scepter to a bevy of laughter. A chant took up as Cotton placed the crown atop his head and the pirate captain winked at both his humbled friend and son.

"Well," said Isaac.

"I thought it a jest," Will offered.

Jack twirled the scepter, a smug look on his face. He poked its emerald topper at the both of them and then brandished it with a swoop to quiet his crew. "_As King of the Pirates_, I do decree—it's time for the feast. Sit down, shut up, and tuck in!"

Indeed it was a feast, Isaac thought. Samson was quite the fisherman. For one man to have reeled in the most of what was piling the tables seemed somewhat a miracle. Cook had done wonders stretching the last swine as well—there were pork pies aplenty. That no man would go hungry was certain. Jack Turner, though, must not have thought so—for Isaac was slightly amazed by the heap of the lad's plate and even more so when he turned back to the lad and saw that more than half of it was already gone.

"What?" Eyes wide, young Jack shoveled a fair bit of fish into his mouth. "S'a feast!"

Even the women were digging in. To Isaac's right Anamaria had dumped a pile of pickled onions on her plate and to his left Alice, for all her dainty ways, plopped a second filet of fish on hers. Elizabeth had already taken up her fork, was shoveling melon mash in her mouth. Her other hand was busily doing much the same for her daughter who was looking on in awe as her father swallowed his helping of wine in one gulp. Isaac, much impressed, took up the bottle and poured the man another. Will caught his eye and they shared a smile. Wanting very much to take advantage of this opportune moment, Isaac raised his goblet to Will Turner's.

"To friends and to family and—" he glanced at the steak on his plate and winced, "to swordfish."

Will laughed and tapped his cup to Isaac's in agreement. They both drank to the toast under the watchful eye of the captain of the _Black Pearl_ who hid a smile around a sizeable bite of swordie. Elizabeth, too, looked most pleased and beamed happily on the both of them, oblivious to all but their food though they were.

"Captain Sparrow," said Alice after a time, "I was wondering if perhaps you could find the common courtesy to share with the rest of us just how long a time you plan to keep us on this sordid holiday…"

Jack shrugged, apparently too fussed with his fish to meet her piercing gaze. "Have you something better to do, somewhere better to be, Miss Witter?"

She sniffed. "Some of us do keep regular occupations, myself not the only one. I simply think it would be considerate to share with us your intended itinerary… but if that is too much to ask—"

"Seven nights and a day, Miss Witter," Jack said, "shall see the _Pearl _and the _Swan_ setting sail for the closest port of call."

"And that is?"

"Isle de Fuego," he said. "From there we shall take what we need and make way… home."

"Home?"

"To wherever home may be."

Later found Alice slipping off to the captain's quarters while Jack finally favored the crew with his story of what had happened to he and Will Turner when they'd been sucked into the sea to the sunken island of Antolune. It was not something she wished to hear, particularly when he'd tell them of her having been posessed by the ghost of that snake Barbossa. It was not something she wished to relive either. As it was, the phantom had left a terrible taste in her mouth.

Young Jack followed the Ice Queen's cue. When it was that the pirates and his parents were paying no heed to anything save for his Uncle Jack's startling tale, he slipped away to peer down at two of the boats belonging to the _Swan_ bobbing in the water. It was quick down the ladder and within moments he was rowing to shore unnoticed.

William, though, was watching his approach. He'd been watching the shadows of the two ships bob in the water since the pirates and other folk had abandoned the shore for them. Dusk had fallen quickly. _Pearl_'s lanterns flickered to life and glowed streams of light against the darkness seeping into the world around her. Young Jack and his boat were one in silhouette against what was a pretty picture even if William's eyesight was not what it used to be.

"Eve," he greeted his grandson, slightly alarmed by the wince on the boy's face. "What is the matter?" But when Jack doubled over with a hand to his side, William knew. He nodded. "Rowed too fast. Sit."

Jack did as told.

"Had a good shot at not being noticed, I presume?"

Jack looked as if he wished to answer but having not found the breath to do so only nodded.

"Had to make for shore fast as ye could?" Another nod and William smiled. "Ye'd be a good pirate."

It was apparently the right thing to say, for Jack grinned through his grimace. He reached into his coat. From it he withdrew a small sack of linen and held it out to William who frowned suspiciously at the offering before taking it. It wasn't heavy but strangely lumpy and so he took care to untying it—smelling its contents long before he saw them.

"Cook's best," said Jack. "Rolls, muffins, and pie."

William was eyeing the small pastry with curiosity. It certainly looked like a pie—a miniature one, but a pie nonetheless. He poked its crusty top and was pleasantly surprised to feel that it was yet warm. He raised a brow at Jack. "What sort of pie?"

"Pork pie."

"Pork…? Jack has a _pig_ on the _Pearl_?"

"He _had_ a pig," said the pirate's namesake with a snicker. "But not anymore."

William snorted. "_Has he chickens and goats as well_?" But the question, uttered under his breath, hadn't been posed to Jack and then he said more audibly to the boy, "I take it you nabbed this from the Captain's table."

"I did." Jack puffed up with a certain sense of pride. "Under all their noses!"

William tried to picture that—Sparrow and Samson and the rest of the pirates swilling down their mugs of rum and goblets of wine while little Jack Turner's hands darted out taking food from their plates to bring to his excommunicated grandpop sitting a league off ashore—and decided, when the sweet smell of food bade his stomach growl, that his amusement was much less important than was his gratitude. "I thank you," he said, looking up at the boy. Little did he expect to see the silver flask that winked at him from his grandson's outstretched hands. He accepted it with a raised brow. "The captain will be missing this."

"Not with that goblet he's got in his hand!"

Jack seemed content with watching the waves wash in as William ate his way through the pack of food. Delicious it was down to the last crumb. William savored it, thinking Sparrow a lucky captain to have nabbed such a seasoned cook, then took up the flask. He held it up to the moonlight to admire the gold inlay that had so long ago caught his eye.

It had been his once—back before he'd tucked it in Jack's coat. At the time, a troubling one to say the least, it had seemed that Sparrow had needed the thing and its numbing contents much more than he, William, had. Now it seemed ironic in his hands again when the tables were turned—Sparrow happy as a clam on his ship and he, William, good as marooned. He shrugged and uncorked the thing. Its rum was sweet on the tongue and hot down the throat—something William had sorely missed and needed dearly.

"You," he told his grandson, "are a very good boy."

"Thank you."

"De nada," said William, a moment before he realized that the boy probably did not speak Spanish. "That is, consider it nothing. You're most welcome."

"But… you're no Spaniard…"

William sighed. "No, lad. But I've made my place amongst those whose tongues speak the language."

Jack's eyes narrowed on him. "Where's that?"

"Oh," William played it off with a shrug, "nothing to tell. Small island with a port. Not many people who live there. Not much of a port either, come to think…"

Jack looked as if he wanted to say something more but in the end did not. Instead he looked out at the ships bobbing in the water and then he laid back in the sand to stare up at the stars. "S'not Isle de Fuego by any chance?"

William's throat constricted painfully. He choked on the rum. Tears stung his eyes as he coughed out the stuff that had gone down the wrong pipe. "How'd ye know that?"

"Lucky guess." Jack sat up on his elbows and gave a shrug of his shoulders. "May have heard of it. Not far from here if what I may have heard I heard right…"

"Close enough to row all the way."

"If that's the case then why are you still here?"

William fought the smile he felt tugging at his mouth. "My boat," he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, "is up a tree." He frowned. "And it's mostly tinder now besides."

"That sounds like a problem it does." Jack frowned. "If it wasn't in splinters, though—would you stay or go?"

"A very good question, son, but one I haven't an answer for."

They sat in silence for a time. Just when William was beginning to grow weary of the thought of the lad's parents—or worse, Jack Sparrow—discovering his absence, Jack rose up with a weary sigh and an utterance that he'd have to be on his way. William thanked the stars and offered the flask back to the lad who took it with a flash of a grin and was off down the sand to his boat before the either of them could say anything more. For this, he decided, he was grateful too.

Jack Turner, though, was not sure how he felt about the situation. He'd wanted more than anything to hear that Bootstrap Bill, his grandpop, would have stayed where he was whether or not his boat was busted. He'd wanted more than anything to hear that he and his Da and Lucy and his Ma were reason enough to stay on Antolune for a time.

But, he thought, as he rowed back to the _Black Pearl_, he wouldn't want Grandpop to lie either…

This time when the rope smacked down in front of him he was not afraid to look up at the Intuits waiting for him. The three men helped him aboard the pirate ship as they'd helped him aboard the _Swan_. The thinnest one gave him a sharp look that Jack readily returned.

"None of that tricksing, thanks."

The priest raised a brow. "I do notknow what you speak of."

Jack rolled his eyes.He ran off to find his sister, knowing well she'd be entertaining the cats in the captain's quarters. He missed the look that the three Intuits shared before turning heads as one to stare out across the water at the figure holding his hands over the flickering fire.

"He has her," said the one.

The other nodded. "Yes. In his hands."

"Does he know?"

The thin man closed his eyes for a time but when he opened them there was no gleam of satisfaction. "I can not see."

"Me either," shrugged the one, much to the consternation of the other two. He frowned. "What? Why does _he_ always get to do the trick?"

As his two companions shared an aggrieved look, on the other side of the ship Jack Sparrow was sharing the same look with Will. Gibbs had just suggested, much to their shame, that they had not given Bootstrap Bill Turner a fair shot at explaining himself. They were not, the either of them, amused.

"Sorry," sighed the sailor. "Just seems the two of you'd be better for it if you'd give the man a chance."

"He drew his own lot." Jack's voice was sharper than any in company expected and he winced at it same as they. Handing off his goblet to Will, he gave a sigh and bowed low to the remaining party. "S'cuse me," he said gruffly, "for I've matters to attend to…elsewhere."

Isaac watched him saunter off with a worried eye but Will held the younger man back when he made to follow after into the Captain's Quarters. He gave a stern shake of his head then offered a companionable smile to both Faust and Gibbs, and winked at a startled Anamaria. "Anyone up for a game of Hazard?"

"_Awwk_," squawked Cotton's parrot, "_forty-six and two_!"

"Turner," asked Anamaria as they made their way to the men who were already hurriedly clearing a table, "Ahku Khar. Sounded a bit like—"

"Yes," said Will, "a bit _too much_ like Jack."

She shook her head. "That devil and his self-serving stories…"

Will smiled at her. "Actually," he said slyly, "for all their likeness, Jack didn't seem to like him all that much."

Anamaria's brows rose.

Captain Jack Sparrow's did too, for he walked in on a startling scene. It wasn't so much that the cats, Ash and Cinder, had turned his bedchamber upside down. Funny as they were, the felines had a habit of doing just that. No, what was so surprising was first that Jack and Little Lucy Turner not only looked to be getting on without bickering but that they were both rapt by, second, the sight of Elizabeth Turner and Alice Witter circling each other, swords drawn.

Perhaps, Jack thought, the tapestries hadn't been shredded by cats' claws afterall.

"Come on," Elizabeth taunted with fire in her eyes, "give us a swing."

Alice sniffed and twirled her blade. It flashed, as did her icy glare at Elizabeth. Their blades met and she snarled. "I'll do my best!"

Horrorstruck, Jack rushed forward. He was worried for the women, of course, but moreso that their swords swayed dangerously close to the priceless paper lantern he'd pilfered during the _Black Pearl_'s last hurrah in Singapore. No less than two warlords had chased after him for it and he was not, he thought savagely, about to see it sliced to shreds.

"Stop," he cried, "no! Now—_ladies_ I don't think you quite need to go to these—" He yelped as the tip of Elizabeth's sword grazed his earlobe. "Lengths," he ducked Alice's swipe, "to settle your differences—"

"_Get out of the way_," she hissed, "this matter does not concern you!"

"Of course not," he said, rounding on her to treat her to his charmingest smile, "but it does concern my lovely lantern, m'lady—so if you'd be so kind as to let me—"

"_Jack_," Elizabeth growled, "**_move_**!"

Missus Turner's tone meant no nonsense and Jack ducked just in time to avoid a swift and lethal beheading between the two blades of both Elizabeth and Alice. He frowned warily up at the swords and beyond them at his beloved lantern. There was, he thought sadly, nothing he could do to save it short of disarming both women and by the determined looks on both their faces he wagered the attempt would not result in anything resembling success. A sharp toe to his rear sent him tumbling out from under their feet across the floor.

Clangs and curses rang out behind him. Both women were embroiled in a bitter battle. Jack struggled up on his elbows to watch resignedly. Elizabeth's strikes were strong and she gave no quarter but Alice was quick on her feet and turned the other woman in circles. Their approach differed but their intensity did not. As much as Alice turned Elizabeth in circles, Elizabeth struck out to cut her off. They were both snarling at each other when Elizabeth's heel caught up a loose plank of floor. Eyes wide, Missus Turner toppled to the floor. Alice leapt forward, tip of her blade pointedly grazing Elizabeth's throat. Her eyes narrowed but a smirk lifted her lips.

"I told you," she said sweetly, "that it was _my_ muffin."

Both Elizabeth and Jack scowled but Jack was quicker to get to his feet. "All that for a muffin?"

Alice regarded the both of them unconcernedly. She shrugged and reached over to the sideboard where sat the aforementioned muffin on a plate. She lifted it daintily to her lips and took a tiny bite from its frosted top. Very slowly and deliberately she chewed and then swallowed. "It is the last one."

This seemed to make sense to Elizabeth, who glowered up at the victor with more malice than should be thought for want of a muffin. Jack frowned between them, trying to make sense of this ridiculousness. He gave up with a grimace and gingerly lifted his lantern from its hook. Glaring at the both of them he folded it carefully then gently placed it in his trunk where surely no harm would come to it. He closed the lid with a snap, not expecting the hissing and scratching that ensued within nor the violent shaking of the thing outwith. With a startled cry he leapt back drawing his own sword to pry the lid open. A grey blur vaulted up out of the trunk, a darker mark following after.

"_What in the blazes_—"

"You didn't expect the two of us to duel without first placing the felines I fancy out of harm's way, now did you Captain Sparrow?"

Jack bit hard on his lip and leaned over to survey the damage. Inside was, of course, a mass of shredded paper what used to be his lantern. When he whirled to glare accusingly at the women, Elizabeth pursed her lips against a smile and Alice took an infuriatingly dainty bite from the muffin that had caused the mess.

"Go," he said, shooing the clamoring children and their mother up the steps. "Out!" When he heard the far away sound of the doors closing after them, he turned on his heel to face the woman who had, along with the cats, caused him such grief. "Give me," he said evenly, "that muffin."

Alice gaped at him, then at the muffin and then once more at him. She recovered and took a defiant bite. "No."

Jack smiled to mask his mounting anger. Sword still drawn, he tensed and took a heavy step towards her. "This is my ship and that is my muffin," he said calmly, one boot over the other nice and easy, "and on my ship if I ask for my muffin—I expect that my muffin will be given to me."

Despite his standing before her in so threatening a manner, Alice made no move other than to take another bite out of the muffin in question. She chewed slowly and when she'd swallowed looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Then I'd say you hold unrealistic expectations, Captain."

"Give me," he growled, "that muffin!"

"No!" Alice ducked under his arm and glared at him as he whirled to face her. "It's _mine_, I fought for it!"

"And very well," he agreed, "I thank you, now hand it over!"

"No!"

"Woman!"

There ensued a bitter struggle. Jack knew Alice was fast on her feet but felt he was faster—until he came up short each time he thought he had her—by the hands, the arm, the hair; she was ducking and whirling from his every advance, stalling only for spare seconds to take bites from the rapidly disappearing muffin. Jack, having had enough of the game, growled when he felt her back to his and spun to grab her waist. She squealed and struggled against him but he had no intention of letting go, no matter how much of a screech she let loose in his ear.

"_Fine_," she screeched, elbowing him in the gut. "_Have your bloody muffin_!"

Winded, Jack wasn't expecting the fist that flew at him, nor the cake that was shoved into his gaping mouth.

"_I hope you choke on it_!"

Indeed, Jack was trying his best not to do what she wished. He was having a hard time of it. As it turned out, the muffin was not of his favorite variety whatsoever. It tasted, he thought weakly, of lemons. Swallowing his pride, and a considerable amount of muffin, he reached up and popped the end out of his mouth to stare glumly at it.

"I really thought it was banana nuts."

"You're bananas," she spat, "and I'll crush your—"

"If you'd just told me it was lemon, love…"

"Oh so now I'm love am I?" Alice sniffed. "Finally forgiven me for having had _my _soul stolen by _your_ undead enemy, have you? Wonders never cease!"

Jack fell back from her, somewhat startled by the outburst. He frowned, his fingers working fastidiously as his mind tried to puzzle out a proper response. Coming up with none, he shrugged and offered the muffin.

Alice folded her arms and tucked her hands resolutely into her elbows, raising her brows expectantly at him.

Jack's eyes went wide. "What?"

"I think I deserve to know why whatever happened—happened!"

"Oh," said Jack, "well if I ever figure it out, dove—and it's looking well that I won't—I'll be sure to let you know." Pleased with himself, he winked at her and bent down with a smirk. "Now, how's about a kiss?"

Whether or not the captain got his kiss wasn't certain that night to the pirates of the _Black Pearl_. Too merry with drink were they to make certain of anything other than their own raucous laughter. On into the night the merriment continued until at last Gibbs ordered all but five of them below. Two of the leastlooped he sent up into the rigging and the other three he set to post before settling down on a barrel to trade stories of old with Isaac Faust much to the delight of Will Turner whose family dozed nearby upon a nest of sailcloth under the light of the moon.

Jack Sparrow, standing in the doorway of the captain's quarters, watched them with a wary eye and then turned it ashore. The fire, he noted, was still burning. And then after another day slaving away on Antolune to find what small amount of treasure existed there, the fire was burning again and the captain of the _Black Pearl_ once again turned his back to the sight and drank down the wine in his cup.

On that night it was Anamaria who dared to tell him that there was no shame in parley and on that night it was Anamaria who was promptly ordered to make clean the mess of Cook's galley. Jack felt the faintest twinge of guilt seeing her storm off to do what she'd been told, but he ignored it in favor of scowling as much as he could in William Turner's general direction. "There will be no parley."

"Don't you think you're being just a bit hard on the old chap?"

Jack looked sharply around at Isaac and raised his brows. "No," he said in a voice lighter than he felt, "I don't." He turned to make his way up to the helm and was not surprised to hear Isaac's steps follow. He laid a hand on the wheel and busied himself with inspecting it. "Could do with some oil."

"You are impossible to reason with!"

"And for what reason do any of you insist on putting your foot where it doesn't belong?" Jack, knowing well that his mention of the ship's shape wouldn't distract the lad, abandoned all pretense and addressed him rightly. "There's only two of us knows what's keeping my foot from stepping ashore—and neither one of us seems to have as much objection to that matter as the lot of you!"

Isaac followed him fast down the steps and into the captain's quarters. "Neither one of you knows the least bit of what the other thinks because the both of you refuse to speak. For all the either of you know, you could have both thought the other dead!"

Jack plucked the cork from a bottle of rum. "For a time, perhaps," he said and knocked back a healthy amount of the stuff. Swallowing against its burn, he closed his eyes against the sight of Faust's hopeful face. "But only one of us meant for the other to so think."

"And what about Will?"

Jack set the bottle of rum on the desk with a thunk and stared hard at Isaac. "What about him?"

"Do you not think it be in his best interests to at long last know his father?"

"Let me ask you something. If it happened as this to you—that your father had _not_ perished in a tempest spurned by the devil himself and was only all this time hiding away from you so as to not take part in your life, would you wish even to look upon his face?"

The words were out of Jack's mouth before he'd thought well through them. If he had, he thought, he would likely not ever have posed such a question to Isaac Faust. Undoubtedly the words had more sting than any he'd ever in all their years snapped at the lad… he chanced a look at Isaac who stared unwaveringly back at him with blue eyes much brighter than usual.

"Forgive me if I can not give answer to such a question," he said quietly, "for I am at the moment not all that fond of _fathers_."

Jack, knowing not what to say, watched with a heavy heart as Faust turned on his heel and marched to the door. There was a moment of indecision with the both of them—Isaac faltering at the threshold while Jack's lips made to move—but it was quickly put to rest; Isaac Faust strode out of sight and Jack's mouth arranged itself in a scowl. He turned away from the door and took up the bottle of rum to glare into its dark depths. An angry curse later and the bottle found itself sat hard on the desk once more, Jack Sparrow's furious footsteps pounding the deck as he stormed out the door.

"_**Lemmy, Roth**—ready a boat_," he ordered two of his watchmen. "I'm going ashore." When he saw Gibbs move forward as if to join him, he gave a shake of his head. "Alone."


	41. Don't Always Flock Together

Sitting by the fire was pointless, William thought, on a warm night such as it was. Crickets wouldn't be chirping if it wasn't so balmy. But then, had he built the fire for its heat? William looked at it, at its bright flames bursting up from the timber he'd gathered, and he felt the sweat upon his brow bead up.

He snorted. "So what if I want them to see me out here? That so terrible of me?"

"More than likely," growled a voice making him jump, "unless you're a wholly different man than the scruplesless scoundrel I've been privileged to meet."

Not daring to rise to the bait, and being angrier at himself for having not noticed Jack Sparrow's approach, William only smirked. He did not dare glance over his shoulder. He would not give Jack the satisfaction…

"So is this how you spend your nights, William? Assuaging your guilt by questioning the air that hasn't the answers you don't wish to hear?" Jack snorted. "Pity it's come to that for you."

"What would you know of guilt, Jack?" He bit hard on the bitter words that wanted to spill forth from his lips. "To feel guilt is to first care and you and I both know how inarguably careless you are."

"Don't presume to know me for so long having not, William."

"And to you the same," he shot back, finally finding the fire to leap up and face the man he hadn't wanted to. "Do not belittle me!"

Sparrow stepped back but his black eyes hardened. His jaw clenched. When he spoke, rage seethed through his clenched teeth.

"You belittle yourself!"

"Oh, rot!" William took a step forward, a thrill of victory emboldening him as he saw Jack back up a step. "You know well as I that you've done your best to down me to my worst, Sparrow!"

"You're bloody well full of it and by the by, William Turner, it's Captain Sparrow—"

"Oh, stuff it ye bloody bird—"

"The only thing I'd like to stuff," Jack shouted, advancing on him with a raised fist, "is that nonsensical hole in your face!"

"What's stopping you!"

But William felt foolish; he was stepping hastily back even as he posed the provocative question to the man he'd rarely seen so incensed. Jack's eyes burned brimstone black in the night. It was, William knew, the same predatorial gleam that blazed at all those who had forced the man to fight battles he'd rather not have fought. Knowing as well what had happened to those men, he took a few steps back rather than stand his ground and reached for the blade strapped to his boot.

Jack stopped abruptly, a feral grin replacing grim determination.

William hesitated.

"Coward as ever you've been, aren't you?"

The pommel of the dagger was heavy in William's hand. He tightened his grip on it, hoping Sparrow didn't notice what he was sure by practice was nearly an imperceptible movement. The man had always had a sharp eye—

A click told William he'd hoped in vain. He froze. There was no other sound like it. William didn't need to see what Jack's fingers were wrapped around to know it was a pistol.

"And you're ever the cheat."

Jack snorted. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

William, unable to refute the accusation, glared at him. His arm tensed.

"You throw that blade at me, William, and I'll not hesitate to win this game."

"What have I got to lose? Go on—take your shot, Jack Sparrow. I'm in no position to barter…" He trailed off, a spark of flame catching his eye. It sputtered out above the spot he'd marked with a scrap of muslin. _Or maybe I am._

"Barter?" Jack cocked his head. "Out of the question. You're inept at bargaining, really. Didn't those ten years you wandered about being skinned to the skelly by the light of the moon teach you anything?"

William strained against the urge to see his blade stuck in Sparrow's heart just then to brush nonchalantly past his former friend. He reached the spot untroubled by the man and without a glance backward bent to dig in the sand. His cautious fingers brushed the black luster hidden there and braced himself for the jolt of recognition.

_Be done with this nonsense, i no toleros!_

Warmth filled William's hands as he lifted the black pearl from its hiding spot. _No mérimna, io._

For a moment the gem went cold and silent, but it just as quickly warmed to the touch again. _Good._

"What's that?" Jack Sparrow's voice still held its edge but now there had crept into it a note of curiosity. "Hiding things even now?"

Biting back a salty retort, William whipped around, pointedly placing the pearl behind his back. His sudden movement had forestalled the approaching pirate, and William struggled not to smirk. He raised a brow instead. "What matter is it to you?"

Jack looked about to remark when William decided it was best to turn on heel and make for the trees. For a moment he wondered if he'd made some stupid mistake… until he heard the unmistakable sound of sand sloughing behind him. He cautioned a glance over his shoulder and saw Sparrow's face twisted with irritation. It was with the greatest satisfaction that William knew the man's frustration had been his doing.

"William," Sparrow's growl carried on the wind, "stop!"

"I think not!"

His step quickened; the shadow of the dark forest loomed tall as he neared. Fronds fluttered—it was, he knew, a disturbance among the birds that rested high above in the branches. William paused at the trunk of the foremost tree, glanced backward at a fuming Sparrow, and stepped into the darkness.

"Stop," Jack shouted, "I command you!"

"Jest who d'ye think ye are!"

"That's a stupid question," Sparrow called, out of breath as he'd taken to running after, "I'm—" he stopped and then groaned, "Captain Jack Sparrow…"

Against his will, William stopped and turned around. He narrowed his worried eyes upon the man bent double at the waist clutching his ribs. Sparrow was wheezing—and William remembered one of the stories he'd heard… He frowned over his shoulder at the pearl that was growing white hot under his touch.

_Go to him!_

With a sigh, he obeyed—albeit cautiously. He stopped a few feet away, knowing well the pirate's propensity for deception, and looked Jack over with a sharp eye. William froze when Sparrow's wary eyes met his: the man wasn't faking. He dropped the pearl and rushed forward despite the frightened sound of the pistol once again being readied. With a tsk he struggled it from Jack's hand and tossed it aside.

"You always hated those things," he told him.

Jack had not the grace to agree, rolling his eyes. "If you're going to kill me," he said roughly, "I ask that you do so without delay."

They stared at each other for a moment, William marveling at how much Sparrow had not aged in so many years. There were a few telltale twirls of grey in the man's long locks and a cluster of lines at the corners of his eyes that were not painted. His stature was still the same as William remembered—a weird strength to his lean and limber frame. He studied his former captain, and friend, as he'd not before had such an opportunity to see Jack Sparrow up close since they'd first again laid eyes on each other in the cavern.

"Don't be stupid," William told him, unnerved to feel his age creep into his weary bones, "I'd have made you a heap on the sand if murder's my intent."

Jack snorted. "What's stopping you? Here I am, clearly at a disadvantage—thanks," he muttered to his chest where beyond skin and bone rose and fell the offending lung, "and here you are, with your hands," he looked worriedly aside at the strong hand pinning his shoulder to the tree trunk, "on the man who fancied your wife, kept you from your family, and who was ultimately the reason you chose to be shackled to the seafloor never to see them again. I'd say you've more reason to make me a… heap… than to not."

William couldn't help it—he laughed. He let go of Sparrow's shoulder and began to laugh. Jack slid a few inches, still unable to stand properly for his struggle to breathe, but glared up at him suspiciously from the spot nonetheless. William shook his head.

"Shackled to the seafloor was I?"

Jack's breath seemed to be returning to him. He inched up against the tree, frowned at William, but said nothing.

"Only till I found a spot of moonlight," William said. "and used a rock to snap my foot from its ankle." He shuddered, remembering the sound. "I still can't forget the pop… and I still can't figger—how's a man made a skeleton hear?" He shrugged. "Wasn't shackled to the seafloor long enough to never see my family again. T'was my choice not to." He saw Jack open his mouth to argue and held up a hand to forestall him. "Couldn't, being tailed by Barbossa."

"Ah."

"Speaking of though," William said, reaching into his pocket and taking out the charm he'd long ago picked up from that godforsaken spit of sand, "I've something belongs to you." He tossed it to Jack, who caught it, turned it around in his palm, and stared silently at it. "Picked it up soon as I reached shore. You'd already gone… smugglers?"

"Aye, though the telling of the tale around about Tortuga," Jack said, pocketing the charm, "is a much saltier story—raft of sea turtles and all." Ignoring William's snort, he stood straight having caught his breath and stared hard at him. "For all his grandiose gibbering, Barbossa never mentioned chasing after you."

"No and he wouldn't, would he?" Despite the discussion, William couldn't keep the smirk from his face. "Not one to admit to a fault, Barbossa. Sent me to the bottom of the sea—indeed. But our curse was shared. They felt the weight of the water pressing in on their bones much as I did. I can only imagine how sour he must have been, Barbossa, as the days wore on—knowing he'd only sent himself and that nasty lot on the _Pearl_ to their doom." He looked at Jack. "To this day I can hear the nonsense Pintel must have spewed when he and Ragetti felt the weight come off their shoulders as I surfaced."

Jack's mouth twitched. "Are you sure those two would have noticed?"

William canted his head in question.

"They were never so quick on the draw."

William would have laughed if it wasn't for the tale he was telling. "They would have felt it. They all would have felt it. They must have. It was not long after I made it to land that they showed up, guns blazing, to hunt me down. I hadn't realized till I perched high in a tree above them that feeling nothing didn't include feeling the curse to our bones—all our bones. We shared it. Our curse was greater than any of us had realized—we were immortal, yes we were, but we were not free—what had been our freedom became our shackles. No longer was the water the wind under our wings. It was clouds pressing down and we all felt it together, not one of us free from the other's burden." He shook himself from his musing and looked up at Jack to see he'd rightly intrigued the pirate. "They followed their burden over the sea as I wore on beneath it…"

Jack's eyes narrowed and he gave an 'ah' of understanding. "They would have followed you wherever you'd gone."

So lucky he was that Sparrow had _always_ been 'quick on the draw.' The weight he hadn't noticed William felt lifted from his shoulders as he shrugged them and offered Jack a modest smile. "S'what I figgered, anyway."

* * *

Captain Jack Sparrow stood where he was, unsure of himself now that he'd taken in all of what William Turner had had to say. When he'd made for shore he'd meant to tell the man off—but somehow the words were dead on his tongue. Oh, he still wanted to tell Bootstrap what a fool he was for forsaking the relationship he could yet have with his son, but he was so unnerved by the tale the man told that he could not quite form the words. B'times he finally found them, he looked up to see that William had retreated to retrieve whatever it was he'd been hiding behind his back that had caused Jack to give chase in the first place. 

"Speaking of burdens," he called over, "are you going to forever keep that one a secret?"

William straightened but did not turn around to face him. "I cannot."

Jack frowned.

"I'd like to, see," said Bootstrap, "but I've an obligation to her." He turned around and Jack's eyes narrowed on the gleaming black orb clutched in the other man's hands. Bootstrap's thumb slid over the perfectly round pearl. "To Neris." When Jack started forward, Bootstrap backed up. "If you don't agree to take me off this island, you curse her to remain here as well."

"Ah, so that's how it is," Jack said, stopping short. "You do have something to barter with afterall."

William's grin was ghostly in the moonlight. "I might have learned a thing or two during those ten years wandering about _being skinned to the skelly by the light of the moon_." He advanced over the snapping twigs and skittering pebbles to stand over a scowling Jack with a smirk on his face. "Wouldn't you say?"

"Unfortunately." Jack rolled his eyes, annoyed knowing he was stuck. "To where shall I take you?"

"Home."

Jack blinked, having never before heard that particular word fall from Bootstrap Bill Turner's lips. "H—home?" His eyes narrowed, trying to see if the man was putting one over on him. "You've got one?"

William raised a brow and walked past him. "Hasn't everyone?"

"Aye," Jack growled, turning on his heel to follow the man out of the forest, "'cept you." He frowned, remembering the pistol, and doubled back to retrieve it. He uncocked it and with a grumble stuck it between his belt and his sash. "Wait," he called to William, rushing to catch up. "Where is it you call home?"

"I was wondering if you'd ask."

"Well I have to, haven't I, if I'm to take you there?"

William did not answer. He did not seem inclined to answer. In fact, Jack was about to ask him if he meant to answer at all when he looked up and followed the man's distant gaze to the fire—and the solitary dark figure standing beside it. Feeling William's arm tense to reach for the dagger tucked in his boot, he hurriedly stalled the action.

"It's Will," he hissed. "Can you not see that?"

Bootstrap straightened, letting the dagger stay where it was, but he stayed tense. "Not at this distance."

Jack sighed. "I should have known he'd follow." He took a deep breath and stepped cautiously forward. As he neared the fire its light illuminated the stricken face of Will Turner and he felt a pang that made him feel the anger that had spurred him to the island at so late an hour in the first place. He turned to glare at William only to find that the man had not accompanied him the rest of the way. Turning back, he saw that he'd instead turned tail back to the cover of the forest. "Oh. Not out of the woods yet, I see." He gave Will a narrow look. "Will be soon enough, I expect."

Will raised his chin. "It's no matter to me."

Jack snorted and made for his boat.

"I was worried about you," Will asserted, following him to the two boats bobbing in the water. He waded out alongside Jack, water sloshing angrily around his ankles. "I saw the both of you facing off…"

"I assure you, Will—I can fight my own battles."

Will's brows met and his mouth bunched up as if he'd eaten something sour. "I think you underestimate him."

Jack bent to untie the rope knotting Will's boat to his. "You're wrong about that." He threw the rope at the younger man and leapt into the longboat, waiting for Will to do the same. When he had, Jack took up the oars and pushed off. "And you're full of it besides. We both know why you made your way to shore, Will Turner. I'm only sorry it didn't turn out the way you'd hoped."

Will made no conversation as they rowed back to the ships waiting for them. He parted ways with Jack in silence and the pirate stopped rowing for a moment to watch that he made it safely to the _Swan_. When he saw the Intuits lend Will a hand up, Jack rowed the rest of the way to the _Black Pearl_ and let Gibbs and Cotton hoist him up. Gibbs looked as though he wished to ask questions but Jack waved him off and stalked the length of his ship in lonely silence. Only when he reached the _Pearl's_ nose did he spy another lonely figure perched on the bowsprit.

A lonely figure dressed in Royal Navy threads.

Jack stopped short. He narrowed his eyes and leapt up onto the joint of the railing. "What sort of idiot," he growled at the man's back, "pulls such a deadly stunt aboard a pirate ship!"

"It's no stunt."

Jack's eyes widened, then narrowed, as Isaac Faust turned to look at him. The lad's face was glum but determined. Jack frowned and looked over the unmistakable uniform. He wondered, for a moment where he'd got the blasted thing—until he saw, to his horror, the gleaming white initials decorating the breast pocket.

"I've decided it's time to tell you," Isaac said. "I enlisted. In the Royal Navy."

* * *

_Intuition : Be done with this nonsense, i no toleros! _I won't tolerate it. _No mérimna, io. _Don't worry, I am.


	42. But Follysome Fellows Do

Dark was the night. Only a few lanterns cast an eerie green glow on the ramparts. The fort was quiet save for the soft swish of the swaying, empty noose swinging from the gallows. Even the prisoners awaiting that certain fate had long since quieted down to attempt sleep in their cells. In the dank passage of the lowest level of the gaol, snores shuddered through the silence.

It had been a long day for Murtogg and Mullroy. First, they'd had the misfortune of being assigned to docks duty. While there was nothing unusual about the task itself, it had proved a most unusual day at the docks. There had been several mishaps, all of which leant heavily upon the two redcoats and least of which was not the veritable menagerie of the farmer Dockett's new shipment. Murtogg's rear end had had the distinct displeasure of making acquaintance with the unforgiving horns of an ornery ram. Mullroy did not make off much better, for a whole group of goats had taken a liking to the taste of his coat's skirt. Twice did the both of them step foot in something that they found, to their dismay, was not mud. As men had packed Dockett's carts with crates of chickens, one squawking bird had got loose and flew straight for Murtogg's wig. Mullroy had unfortunately picked that moment to turn to speak to his comrade and so it was that Murtogg's wig had been spared—Mullroy, though, had had to spend several hours in the infirmary having sharp feathers removed from his reddened cheeks.

When finally the Doctor had proclaimedMullroy free of feathers, Murtogg had appeared with the news that they'd been reassigned to accompany the Commodore to the Governor's mansion. This in itself was usually a fancied affair for the two—Swann was a gracious host and they usually enjoyed, upon their visits to his home, a healthy sampling of jam tarts or pastries while their superior officers spoke of business and of duty with the Governor. This day, though, Swann had called the Commodore to complain verily of his daughter having gone missing for quite some time. As the Commodore had not the answers that the Governor wished to hear, Murtogg and Mullroy had been sent to fetch the Admiral—just as the butler had swept by with a tray of goodies. Grumbling, the two Navymen had gone off to grab their commander from his newly appointed office.

They hadbeen promptly reassigned to hold a party of prisoners in the infirmary. It had been with heavy hearts that they'd resigned themselves to their fates of not this day tasting one of the Governor's tasty treats. It had been with heavy hearts that they'd stood still and silent in the stench of the infirmary. It had been with heavy hearts that they'd realized too late that the stench came from the prisoners—who had apparently been apprehended for public drunkenness, as one or two of them would invariably shout madness then spout vomit.

Mullroy had, at one point, been standing too close to the one of them that spouted up and the red wool of his coat had been spattered with rancid stench. Murtogg had snickered his sympathies until the other drunk had gargled up his gut all over the redcoat's shoe. When the Admiral had returned he had been disgusted and ordered the two men out to sup. Both stinking, though, Murtogg and Mullroy hadn't the appetite to eat. They'd both gone their separate ways to their separate homes to rid themselves of the sick smell they'd suffered smelling. It wasn't long before a currier had come running for the both of them with new orders: they would have the pleasure of feeding Will Turner's mulish beast.

Mullroy had not been at all surprised to hear that his comrade was thrilled with the reassignment. Murtogg was, afterall, obsessed with the pirate Jack Sparrow. Turner being one of the scoundrel's closest friends made for a chance of finding something of Sparrow's hiding away in the smithy. Murtogg seemed determined to make a snoop of himself—until they discovered that the only thing Sparrow had left in the smithy was an ornery mule. There had been rumors of his encounter with the beast on his first foray into Port Royal, but the two redcoats had thought it conjecture. When Murtogg lifted a blade from the cold ash of the fire, though, and the mule stormed him down into the dirt, the two soldiers came to the conclusion that the story had not been so much a story as an account. It had taken Mullroy near on an hour to separate Murtogg and the mule; he had had some success early on but Murtogg kept making the same mistake of lifting that same blade from what would normally be the forge's fire. Finally, after insisting Murtogg leave the thing where it lay, they had been able to calm the beast and feed it well enough. They'd been nearly done when the Commodore stormed the smithy with news that old Missus Waverly required their assistance.

Old Missus Waverly, a widow who lived at the edge of town, was exactly what her name implied: old and wavering. So wavering was she that it was usually difficult to tell what she was saying. So old she was that it was usually difficult for her to puzzle out what it was she wanted to say. Between the two conditions, she was what Mullroy perceived to be a bloody nuisance. Murtogg was equally fond of her and, unfortunately for he and Mullroy, Old Missus Waverly was extremely enamoured by the both of them. Whenever she sent her harried houseboys to beg help, she specifically requested the assistance of Murtogg and Mullroy. Being men of morals, both redcoats could not admit to the other that they wished Old Missus Waverly would get too old to live any longer.

That day, she had wanted men to move her piano out onto the balcony. Or so Mullroy had thought—until a rainstorm had come upon them and soaked the instrument in a deluge of rain as Old Missus Waverly shook in horror. Murtogg's attempt to remedy the situation had left deep gouges in the tiled floor. In the end, the two men had had to dry the innards of the instrument and then move Pete, the parrot, to his new upstairs perch: the task that had been meant for them afterall. Pete the parrot took an instant liking to the buttons on Murtogg's coat. Mullroy had had a delightful time tearing the bloody bird from his comrade's person, nearly being beaked to death in the process. When finally they'd managed, though, they'd said their goodbyes(hopefully their last!) to Old Missus Waverly and ran to their waiting carriage. It had taken them back to the fort where the Admiral had assigned them to a watch. It was their snores disturbing the silence, much to the irritation of the sleepy prisoners stuck in their cells.

"Ey you," shouted one, "cut out that snoring or I'll cut out yer tongue for ye!"

Murtogg and Mullroy, though, had had a long day and so they slumped in their stools at opposite ends of the passageway, jaws slack as they slumbered. Mullroy gave a great snort of a snore. Air whistled through Murtogg's nose.

"Ey, we're tryin to sleep in 'ere!"

"Get sleep on yer own time, ye lazy arses!"

"Listen to the one—he's soundin like a pig!"

Indeed, Mullroy sounded like a pig as he slept, oblivious to the men threatening his very life.

Murtogg was as clueless.

"This a-one's a teakettle!"

The prisoners, irritated as they were, all shut their mouths when they heard a strange rumble ripple its way in from the windows facing the sea. It was followed by the rumble of a man's voice. A man's terribly angry, terribly loud voice.

_**WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING!**_

Murtogg and Mullroy woke with a start.

"What was that?"

"Sounded like Jack Sparrow."

"How could that have been Jack Sparrow?"

Murtogg shrugged. "Dream?" he suggested.

"Oh yeah," Mullroy agreed sleepily. "Right."


	43. Take Flight

By all measures, it had been a long night.

For Will Turner it had been a long night of unrest. He'd slammed doors aboard the _Swan_ till he was locked in tight with his family. He'd thought it would be comforting but the close confinement with his own children brought to mind that he was not, nor may never be, all that close to the father he'd finally found. Looking at Jack and Lucy reminded him of the boy his father had long ago left behind in England. Looking at Elizabeth reminded him of the mother he'd left behind in England. Unsettled he'd been to think they'd both left her behind…

He'd been brooding when at long last Elizabeth had called lights out. That she and the children disappeared from his sight first relieved him—but that led fast to a gut-gnawing guilt he could not shake for the rest of the fitful night. He'd tossed and he'd turned and he'd shuddered off into an onslaught of nightmares only to shiver out of them with a wince or a whimper.

For Elizabeth Turner it had been a long night of dread. She and the children had spent the better part of the night avoiding upsetting Will. It had been easy to tell on his return that he hadn't been in the best of moods. As the night wore on though, it had become apparent that he was in the worst of moods. Every glance at Jack had darkened his gaze and every look at Lucy had saddened it.

On such occasions Elizabeth felt as if she were trying desperately to avoid stepping in quicksand. She never quite knew what might set Will off so she did her best to allow him as much space as possible, minding the children and their mouths in case either one of them might step dangerously close to the sinking surface of whatever it was Will was wallowing in. She'd therefore spent the night keeping Jack and Lucy in line and glancing worriedly at Will each time she'd thought they may have stepped over it. When finally she could take no more, she'd called lights out and put her family to bed.

Her night hadn't ended there though. She'd heard every worried whisper that had come from Will's sleeping tongue. She'd heard her husband's every whimper. She'd worried that his fitful sleep would wake the children and when it hadn't she'd almost felt relieved… except she'd wondered worriedly if Will had come to resent them as much as he'd seemed to when they'd first embarked on their journey. Maybe, she'd worried, he only saw in them the child he'd never been able to be instead of the children that he'd been blessed to bring into being.

Elizabeth Turner hadn't been the only one unable to sleep that night. Sam Samson had stayed up to make certain that those tricky Intuits didn't try to do anything stupid… like tie him to the bowsprit and demand whatever it was the skinny buggers had got themselves so worked up about. He'd noticed their stolen glances at each other when they thought he wasn't looking and he was worried for himself and the Turners. Threat of mutiny had kept him from sleep as much as Roth had kept Ana from it. And they, making quite an unearthly racket, had kept most of the _Black Pearl_ from sleep as well.

For Alice Witter it had been a long night of waiting. She'd long since learned not to stop her rogues when they insisted on doing something stupid. So it had been on this night. She'd been reading one of Jack's favorites, a bawdy tale about a nymph, when Isaac had stormed the quarters in his Royal Navy getup. Only a glance had she spared him over the top of her book and he'd harrumphed out of sight without a word. He hadn't needed to speak one. She'd known immediately what he was up to and she'd known immediately that trying to talk him out of it would only serve to fuel his desire to carry out his plan of action—stupid though it may have been.

And it had been. For when it finally happened(**_WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING!_**), Alice had imagined all the sleeping sea awakened by the soul-shattering roar that ripped from the throat of Captain Jack Sparrow. She was certain that Jack had put the fear of God in the crew and perhaps those aboard the _Swan_… maybe even the one man remaining on the once-lost-now-found island. She had had no doubt that even those slumbering in Port Royal had been roused by the pirate captain's harsh protest of his son's joining their esteemed ranks. The whole of the Caribbean, and maybe even the coastal colonies, had probably been frightened awake by Jack Sparrow's thunderous roar.

For her part, she'd sighed and laid down her book. There would be little sense involving herself in the issue, she'd thought. And she'd lain down to sleep listening to the two rant and rave above her.

Jack had hauled Isaac off the sprit by the arm and dragged him bodily to the captain's quarters. Despite the racket they'd made cussing and spitting at each other the whole way there, and despite the rapidly appearing faces of his weary crew, Jack had felt no obligation to explain to anyone as he tossed his son headfirst into the privacy of his office. Snapping the doors behind them he'd railed at Isaac, who'd railed at him until he'd railed back again on into the fevered hours of the night. They'd shouted at each other, they'd screamed and threatened each other, and then Isaac had gone to tears.

Captain Jack Sparrow had cussed, knowing his weakness, and followed suit.

Then he'd stormed down the stairs to drag the woman who'd known but hadn't told him up to demand to know why she'd not informed him of the egregious behaviour of their one and only progeny. Alice Witter had not answered but poured him a drink, bade him drink it, and kissed him very sweetly on the forehead before she'd gone back down to resume her sleeping.

This had been quite a relief to the crew of the _Pearl_. They'd been doing their best not to be heard listening at the Captain's door. On as little sleep as they'd got that night, thanks to Anamaria and Roth who stood in the center of the group('_wrapped in sailcloth for goodness sake_,' thought Gibbs) such a task had hardly been easy. When they'd heard a muffled dismissal and the approach of heavy footsteps, they'd flown down the stairs quick as they'd come. Gibbs soon discovered that only Marty had remained behind. No doubt Marty was worried for his friend Faust's mental state after having had such a row with the Captain. Grumbling, Gibbs had gone back up to fetch the runt.

But when he'd caught sight of the uniformed officer walking towards them, Gibbs had done a double take. Faust had stalled beside the stairs to frown down at Marty who had done his best to stand tall in salute. Isaac had smiled and patted his bald head before raising a brow at Gibbs and retiring below. When Gibbs had finally nodded off, he had dreamt troublesome dreams in which his Captain had finally gone mad enough to stand at the sprit and proclaim himself, to the Pearl and the rest of the Caribbean, the King of the World.

Captain Sparrow had had his own share of troublesome dreams, each more troubling than the last. It had been his opinion that nightmares could not surpass the truly terrifying thought of Commodore Custard but he found, late in the night as he woke without breath to scream, that he had known no terror greater than seeing in dreams the possibilities deadly fate might deal his son. Glimpses of gunfire, of the silver blades of muskets slashing eerily against the dark night, and the sight of bright red wool stained crimson had waked Jack Sparrow through the night. Time and again he'd rolled over to groan into his pillow and time and again he'd thought, to his irritation, perhaps the very same uncertainty had plagued Bill Turner for all those lost years. When Jack had finally decided that sleep would not be had, he'd stumbled up the stairs and out onto the deck of the Pearl to grouse about.

Not even a streak of light was on the horizon and yet Jack smelled morning on the breeze. The smells carried on it were pungent and the salty air was thicker than balmy. The edges of the Pearl's furled sails that had fluttered frantically the previous night were now much at rest, flapping almost lazily above him as he stood lamenting their listlessness.

"Been still too long."

Jack glanced aside to watch the older man lower a bucket into the calm water below. For as long as Cook had been rising earlier than any of them to serve his crew, Jack Sparrow had met his acquaintance before the break of dawn only a few times. Each time there had been trouble in the water. Though there were no ships save the Swan in sight, Jack felt as if there was as much to worry about.

"So've I."

Cook glanced up to acknowledge the Captain from where he knelt on deck but did not remark before returning his attention to his task. Jack frowned, finding the man's routine as disconcerting as it was comforting. Captain Sparrow could scarcely remember what it was like to be a man with a certain set of obligations that took precedence above and beyond anything else—save the hoop-tee-doo of being the captain of a pirate vessel.

"Tell me, Mister Cook… does the crew take offense to the Black Pearl's sailing still waters?"

"Never was good at them metaphors, Cap'n…"

"Do the lot of ye…" Jack's mouth curled around the words, not appreciative of having to spit it out. "…miss being part and privy to piratical exploits?"

"Pardon me," said Cook, "but I was under the 'mpression we were part and privy to… being pirates… all the time. So's I can't figure how it is we'd be missing… that."

"We're not pirates."

Cook's third bucket plunked with a splash into the water. The slack line flew out of his hands and over the railing out of sight. He stared wide-eyed at Jack over the rims of his spectacles. "Say again, sir?"

Jack tsked and turned his attention upward. The sails were black as the flag he flew on the mainmast, but that flag had meant little to him of late. In fact, he'd at one point considered taking it down, folding it up, and laying it to rest in the very trunk where the cats had made shreds of his prized paper lanterns.

"Don't act as if you haven't noticed," he drawled, folding his hands on his chest and letting his fingers twitch and twiddle amongst themselves. "We've not plundered nor plunked a ship in so many months… I'm not certain we'd remember how to go about it were we to come upon an opportunity. S'been years since we sacked a single coastal colony. And more often we stop at the island and visit Port Royal than we jolly about Tortuga." Jack was surprised to hear the graveling growl of anger in his own voice but could not contain it. "May as well be merchants!"

"Bite your tongue, Cap'n!"

"Ach, what's the use Mister Cook? Doesn't make it any different not saying it!"

"Not sayin what?"

Both Jack and Cook turned to regard the woman who'd spoken with wary indecision. They were both aware of Anamaria's fierce pride of her pirating and they were both aware that stating that the activities aboard the Pearl lacked piratical merit would grant the both of them a squelching earful. Jack Sparrow, though, was nothing if he wasn't daring to the point of daft.

"That we're good as merchants on this silly ship."

Sparrow and Cook awaited her reaction on baited breath. To their dual astonishment, no volley of shouts rang out. They watched in horrified fascination as Anamaria's lips turned up in a quirk of a smirk.

"Why Captain Sparrow," she said lightly, "never thought I'd see the day ya called your boat a silly ship."

Jack scowled but the dark look slid off his face when he felt a smooth hand patting—not slapping—his cheek. Through eyes wide as Cook's had been he stared at Anamaria. That she'd lost her mind crossed his.

"Truth is we're the last of our kind," she said. "Those callin theyselves pirates these days ain't much more'n petty thieves learned how to row a boat. Merchants carry more guns'n they do." Her dark eyes took on a dangerous gleam. "But the _Black Pearl_'ll outgun and outrun any Merchant any day and we ain't peddlers, Jack Sparrow—we pillage, we plunder, and we don't give a hoot."

"My lady," Jack said, "we have not pillaged nor plundered in quite some time. And we've peddled more than most Merchants could ever hope to trifle their loot."

The soft look on Anamaria's face faded to a scowl. "We ain't merchants, ya cad. We're devils and blacksheep and really bad eggs—you used to sing it all the time!"

Jack sighed and took a step back lest she decide to let loose a slap. "A silly song."

"You're still a pirate! It's in your blood and it'll show itself again when it wants to."

Captain Sparrow and Mister Cook watched her storm off, both grateful she hadn't let them have it afterall. Cook took to his tasks again, leaving Jack to his thoughts. He strolled starboard and looked out over the black water. It would soon be blue. A faint glow had illuminated the edge of the horizon, signaling that a new day was about to dawn.

Captain Sparrow surveyed the weary faces and bleary eyes of his crew. They'd gathered before him without complaint. Truthfully, he wasn't sure they'd be able to open their mouths—by the slouching way they stood it was clear he'd not been the only one unable to sleep. They had dragged and hobbled themselves to assemble and now they were swaying on their feet as if their legs were not sturdy enough to stand on.

If his early morning musings hadn't encumbered his spirit enough, looking at his tired, downtrodden crew might have struck at Jack's very soul. As it was, though, Jack Sparrow had seen the most of them worse for the wear. He'd seen Gibbs with a piece of silverware stuck through his ear, Cotton with a coconut lodged in his mouth, and Marty with a horde of starfish sticking to his shiny bald head. He'd watched the two redheaded men remove a grappling hook from Tearlach's hand and stood by while Cook removed shards of shrapnel from Quartetto's scalp. He'd stood before his crew when they were battered and bloody and he'd seen all the light of hope go out of their eyes—only to spark again at the sharp bark of a quick thought command. All this in mind, Captain Jack Sparrow's spirits were running fairly high.

"Gentlemen," he said, "and ladies…" He gave a mock bow to Anamaria before him then turned aside to kiss a stony-faced Alice Witter's knuckles. In such excitement was Jack Sparrow that when she snatched her hand away he did not notice—not much anyway. With a slightly sour face he turned back to his downtrodden crew. "I have gathered you here on this day to commend you on… your exemplary work."

A murmur passed through the assemblage and Gibbs, bless him, muttered a harried translation: "Means 'good job done.'"

"…due to iniquitous hindrance it's been a long and tedious task we've found ourselves set to…" Jack strolled comfortably to and fro before them, his hands folded behind his back. "…a slight misadventure we've found ourselves on, a little bit of a loss if I've counted them correctly but by all measure still could be considered a profitable venture."

To translate this took moments. Gibbs did his best and in good time the crew was staring daggers at Captain Jack Sparrow whose good nature was fading fast. His smile fell into a scowl.

"I did mention thinking we'd have our hands on a rather rare, mythical sword, did I not?"

"Mythical," scoffed Marty, "that's good as being air!"

"Might as well chased after a cluster of mermaids," sneered one of the men.

"Or the Kraken."

"Now look, see," Jack said, his temper flaring just a bit, "a Kraken's no laughing matter. And mermaids are _very bad luck_ which we aboard the _Black Pearl_ shall never chase after. But that sword was no myth, you dubious lot!"

"So you have it?" Jack frowned down at Marty, wondering how the smallest man aboard had more guts than all the rest combined, but the scowling pirate misinterpreted the scrutiny. "Captain," he clarified grudgingly.

The clarification, though, did speak to Jack Sparrow's very soul. He brightened a bit at the proper address—until he remembered the answer to the question Marty had posed to him. No sense dallying about—"No." He looked aloft at the clear blue sky. "Broke into a thousand emeralds though. We've got those."

"Oh," Marty scoffed. "Well at least there's them."

"Pipe down little man," Anamaria growled. "Jack, how's this wasted trip s'posed to still be worth our time?"

"Well," he said, bouncing lightly on his heels, "there is something that only I can do…"

A while later found Anamaria staggering along the shoreline, arms full of twine so tangled that she had to fight with it each time she made to stick one of the attached flagsticks in the sand. After each marking, she rose up to glare at the back of her captain's head. How it had come to be that she was the one stuck with the laborious task, she still was not sure.

"This is madness ya daft duck!"

"Ha!" Jack's laugh whipped him around. "Do you have any idea how much this map will sell for, missy?"

Anamaria stopped before him with a scowl. "I don't care. This is more work than taking a Frenchy's frigate!"

"And probably more profitable. You do realize—this is an uncharted island. And being uncharted means… no one else will have made it a nice map of its own. Which, by the way, makes my map's market value… priceless."

"But you have a price?"

"Don't I always?" Jack went a bit ahead of her and sipped water from his flask as he waited for her to catch up. When she had, he handed the drink off to her and watched as a few birds hopped from branch to branch toward them. "Wish I had someone to write up the visitation."

Anamaria shrugged. "I coulda done if ya'd let Roth do this part."

Jack waved that aside.

"Didn't ya say Bootstrap was something of a writer?"

As the birds began to clamor around them, Jack looked up. A very familiar face looked at him over Anamaria's shoulder. Giving a startled cry, Jack spun in the sand. It wouldn't do to allow Bootstrap the pleasure of knowing he'd given him such a shock.

"Heard tell he's a dab hand at it, meself."

Anamaria spun around snarling. There sparked in her eyes a bit of fire as she hefted her dagger in defense. Its hilt glinted to match her ire but Bootstrap was too quick for her. Her eyes darkened as he gripped her wrist and turned it to disarm her. When he'd placed an arm's distance between the two of them and treated her to his charmingest smile, he released her. Anamaria scrambled for the dagger. She stuck it in her sash, straightened, glared at him and spat at his feet. "Devil's tricks!"

William's eyes danced as he regarded her. "Don't know much about the devil."

"Funny then you don't know much about yourself!"

"Well at the very least I do know that I am a capable writer." He looked down at the mess bundled in Anamaria's arms. Understanding dawned in his eyes as he raised them to a wary Jack Sparrow. "Mapping, Master Starling?"

Jack was taken aback. He considered William and then flicked a frivolous hand at the air. "That's not my name. Let's move on, Anamaria." He turned, doing his best not to look over his shoulder, and moved forward. "We've much more ground to cover!"

"Jack," called Bootstrap, "maybe you'd cover it quicker with an extra pair of hands…"

"Well," said Jack, working hard to keep the smirk out of his voice, "if you've a witchery spell to sprout an extra pair on me person I'd thank you for it."

"But…" Bootstrap stopped a moment to absorb that and then there was the hint of a glare in his surly voice. "Stop then and turn around, I'll lay an extra hand on your person!"

"William," Jack chastised, stopping to wait for a griping Anamaria, "we've really no time for your needless violence. As you can see," he said, his lip curling a little as he remembered his discovery of Bootstrap's handicap, "or maybe not… Anamaria and I have got only the remainder of the daylight to mark distance. We're short on thanks for maybes, suggestions, and possibilities. If you'd like to certainly lend a hand or positively offer your services… then we'd long thank you."

Bootstrap glared at him for half a moment, then scooped half of Anamaria's burden into his own arms. For her part, the woman appeared no happier. She turned a suspicious eye on Turner as they followed behind Sparrow. He had taken the forward part of the bundle but she was careful not to take her eyes off him as she knelt to place the markers in the sand. The fewer she held, the gap between them lessened. When she placed the last she was a step behind him and he gazed down at her as if appraising her strength. It was the look she took on when preparing to strike and so she sprang up and laid her hand on the hilt of her dagger, her own eyes meeting his with a warning.

The devil had the nerve to smile!

Anamaria rolled her eyes and turned to look ahead at Sparrow whom it seemed was taking no notice to them. The pirate captain had clutched in his hand that infernal scroll of parchment that had started this messy affair and was muttering to himself as he looked down the line at the flagged markers she'd placed. He scribbled something, cast a glance in their direction, and went on.

"Suppose that means it is my turn," Bootstrap said.

"Yah," she snapped, "get on with it." She wanted to follow behind to keep better watch for any tricks he might attempt to pull on she and Jack. "Ya heard Sparrow, we haven't much time."

"Afraid the sea is going to swallow this place whole again?"

It was a frightening suggestion and one that Anamaria did not like. She glanced down at the water lapping at her feet. Her life had been spent with the waves and she knew better than most how careless the sea could be when it came down to human lives. It was a thought she did not want to think and so she glared at Bootstrap as she followed him as they followed Sparrow.

"It's really not all that terrible," he said, placing a marker. "There comes a strange yellow light that forms a sort of bubble all around your person, see, and the water cannot breach it. The worst part is looking out beyond it into the darkness, knowing it's water put between yourself and the air you breathe. Course… there's air in the bubble but you're not much for thinking at that point so you suffocate yourself to sleep."

"Shut up," she groused. "It only happens if you believe in it and I don't."

Bootstrap chuckled. "Believe what you have to."

It was dusk when the first marker that had been placed came into sight. William stuck the last in the sand a few paces from it. He and the woman regarded each other and then turned to watch Jack Sparrow scribble madly on the parchment he held before him. Having done his duty, William approached the swaying pirate to eye the figures Jack had taken. Long ago Sparrow had tried to teach him how to make a map, but he was far better at simply reading them so the figures made little sense to him—except that Jack might profit greatly from them and the map they'd make if Antolune wasn't sunk to sea again.

"You want an account of it?"

Sparrow didn't look up from his figuring but he lifted his writing hand and swirled the quill pen in the air. "Of what?"

"The island. Surely you could benefit from a proper description?"

"Oh," said Jack, scribbling again. He glanced aside at William and shrugged. "Sure. I'll write one."

Whatever breath William had been holding rushed out, leaving him deflated. "I see."

Jack looked up, finally, and regarded him for a long moment. "We leave with the tide." He wrapped the nib of his quill in cloth, stuck it behind his ear, and tucked his parchment away in an inner coat pocket. He didn't look back as he ushered the woman to one of the longboats they'd beached and gestured to the other, its oars lashed tightly inside. "I leave you with the means to leave this place in the way of your choosing." Jack and the woman pushed their boat out into the water and he leapt in it after her, his back to William. "Au revoir, William Turner."

William watched the distance between them grow. When they'd made it to the _Pearl_ he looked from the ship to the boat at his feet. Giving a weary sigh, he turned away and began the long walk to the woods. The palm fronds shivered with anticipation of his return and he rolled his eyes. "Bloody birds."

Jack Sparrow had meant to sit down at his desk to begin preliminary sketches of the map he meant to make, but he found immediately that he could not concentrate. He therefore invested his time in a bottle of wine. When Gibbs peered in at him some time later, he was staring worriedly into the flame of his candle.

"Tide's swellin, Cap'n."

"Well then," the captain said, "rouse the crew and ready the sails, Mister Gibbs. And be quick about it."

"Aye, that I'll do, Jack…"

Sensing the man's lingering presence, Jack shook himself from his stupor and looked over at him. "I said be quick about it. What stalls you?"

"Should we signal the _Swan_, sir?"

Jack frowned out the porthole at the ship, dark with sleep as he'd suspected, and pretended to think the question over. He shook his head. "No," he said, "I don't think we should." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "And Mister Gibbs?"

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"If a man in a boat should come rowing," the pirate captain said, "leave him behind."

William was settling into his boat when he heard what could only be the sharp snap of sail. He frowned and squinted out at the ship lit with activity. Would Sparrow not wait a tick? Figuring not, and cussing the barmy bird, he slashed the bindings on his oars and took them quickly in hand. He knew well how fast the _Black Pearl_ moved once she was set for a course, and he knew just as well he'd best be quicker if he meant to board her. Shortly he'd gained a good deal of distance and spared a glance up at Sparrow's ship.

The _Black Pearl_'s sails were swelling with air.

"Wait, ye imbecilic bastard," Bootstrap ground out. "I've not the arms for this and ye know it!"

But the _Black Pearl_ did not wait. Frothy foam fanned out behind her grand stern as she sailed ahead. Save for the sound of slicing through the water, she was quiet as she'd ever been. William struggled to turn his boat to follow and watched, with dawning comprehension, as she slid swiftly alongside the ship that sat still and silent in the water.

"No ye don't," he shouted at the pirate ship, rowing faster and harder than before. "Ye won't do this to me, Jack Sparrow!"

Furiously he rowed, and rowed, and rowed, and still the gap between he and the _Black Pea_rl widened. He was gasping for breath when a whipping wind sent Jack Sparrow's ship so far ahead that William knew he'd never catch up. Still gripping the oars, he fell back and struggled for breath. When he'd caught it, he looked aft over his shoulder.

The _Swan_, too, had been left behind.

Cursing the imbecile he'd been daft enough to trust, William began rowing backwards. Unbeknownst to him, three slim figures stood silently watching his progress from the deck of the dark _Swan_. The Intuits had long been waiting for this very moment and had no intention of allowing it pass them by—in fact, they'd taken careful measures to assure that it would not.

"Ahswa," began the one on the right to the one in the middle, "do you believe we have done the right thing?"

"Do not question Ahswa again, Merito!"

Merito frowned at Kalek. "Do not speak to me so!"

"Quiet, the both of you," growled Ahswa, "it will not do to wake them so soon. Even sending the others to sleep, it was much work to tether the behemoth."

All three heads of the men turned as one. The Intuits stared warily at their red-faced prisoner. His eyes betrayed his fury at having been strapped to the mizzenmast and they worried what Samson, three times their size, might do if his bulging arms burst free of their restraints.

"I still do not know how we did it," said Merito.

"Our will to see our _karosamina_ once more."

Kalek and Merito nodded in agreement but exchanged a sad look behind Ahswa's back. They knew well that the man in possession of their precious gem of the sea would not soon hand her over—especially to Ahswa. They were certain Ahswa knew all of this, but he had said nothing of it.

"It does not matter." But Ahswa's eyes were narrow as he said this, and Merito caught a whisper of his angry thoughts. _Protos eroitoi… alla dinei huios! Huios mi… i no allotrios—_silent went the sound of Ahswa's mind. He glared at Merito but turned away to stare out over the black water. "Only does it matter that she is in good hands."

But as Merito watched the man row first towards them, then away from them, and back and forth again, he was not certain that she was in good hands. In Kalek's mind he heard the same doubt. He dared not listen again to Ahswa's.

"He does not know where to go," Kalek said of the man in the boat.

"Then we compel him to us!"

"Ahswa—_me arcon_," said Merito, and quickly, "we do not compel! It is not right with the ways."

"We must in the case of this fool!"

"**_Nary a chance_**!"

The three Intuits leapt at the angry shout. Sam Samson had gnashed through the cloth stuck between his teeth. He spat it at his feet and glowered at the men who shook with trepidation before him. They paled under the moonlight.

"Bill'em wouldn't give in to yer tricks—his will's strong."

"It does not matter," Merito said, somehow finding his voice through his fear. "He must come to us. He has not a choice."

"And naether will the three of ye soon as I get meself loose! It'll be yer sorry lot in that boat! Ye can row yerselves home to yer ruddy island!"

As William rowed in close to the sleeping ship, angry voices gave him pause. With some amount of dread, he looked up expecting to see the stiff shape of his son stomping angrily into view. When that did not show itself, he gave a sigh of relief and looked around for his grapple. Sparrow had stowed it in the boat with a long coil of rope attached. William dropped one oar against his boot, reached behind himself for the hook, and in seizing it took it hard in his hand and threw it up and over the side of the _Swan_. Years of boarding vessels had made the task an easy one, but climbing up with a great big pearl clutched with one hand to his chest was another story altogether.

He struggled, all the while trying to figure out whose voices he was hearing. One was unmistakably Sammy Samson's. The others, even though they grew louder as William climbed higher, were less recognizable. They sounded familiar, though, he thought with a frown as he finally grasped the railing.

Immediately, there was a flurry of excitement on deck. William was startled to find himself in the middle of it. Three sets of slim hands had reached out to help him over the rail, to pat away the sweat that had beaded on his forehead, and to smack him reprovingly across the face. Seeing stars, he blinked, and when his vision cleared he saw before him three Intuit men. By the man in the middle's scowl, William guessed him to be the one who'd struck him and would have treated him to a most vicious glare if he hadn't glimpsed beyond the Intuits a strange sight. Samson had been tied tight to the mast. Loops of rope strained around his bulging biceps, but held him fast. William raised a brow.

"Have I interrupted something?"

"Tied me to the mast, those buggers there!"

William looked from the big man to the slight men in disbelief. "These ones?" He looked between them again then frowned at Samson. "You sure?"

Sammy's face purpled, which was really rather awful in combination with his copper-colored locks. "O' course I'm sure!"

"We could not risk his refusal of you," said the man in the middle. "We feared it would be the last we laid eyes on you."

William looked over at Samson with interest. "Sammy, would ye have 'refused' me?"

"You're bloody well right I would," he thundered, clearly angry now at the situation. "I woulda let ye row yer boat all the way home—this here ain't mine to say if ye stay or go, but I'm steerin' it for young Will and I'm nearly convinced he wouldn't want ye here naether Bootstrap!"

William frowned. "Speaking of the boy…"

"The rest are below, sunk into a deep sleep," the Intuit told him. He smiled cruelly. "Your son is troubled by his dreams."

This time, William's vicious look met its mark.

"I am glad that my son does not suffer so."

_Tell him to be quiet, he is hurting my ears._

William looked down at the place where his heart had just warmed, and saw the pearl he held there as if for the first time. It was black as night but lustrous in the moonlight—just as beautiful as Neris had ever been. _No, I'll tell him to shut up or I'll box his ears._ He looked up at the offending Intuit and found the man's reverent gaze latched to the pearl. For some reason, he had the strangest inclination to hide her—as far away from this creature as possible.

"Does she rest?"

It took William a moment to realize that the question had been posed to him—and that the man knew Neris was currently residing, somehow, within the pearl. He scowled. "No," he said, feeling quite angry all over again, "she doesn't. In fact, she says she's tired of hearing you speak."

Anger marred the Intuit's smooth features but his two companions held him back. He shook free of their grasp and pushed past William to grip the railing of the _Swan_. The others followed and William held the pearl closer to his heart as he strolled between them. Over his shoulder he saw the three men whisper amongst themselves.

"Took the Mickey right out o' him."

William looked up at Samson. He cast a glance backward at the man glaring out at the sea and shrugged. "Aye, and he deserved it." He looked up at Samson, who was yet tied to the mast. "Looks like you need cutting down yourself."

Samson scowled. "Appears so, does it?"

"_Mmhm_," murmured William, "that it does." But he'd spied the helm, and its glossy gold drew him to it. Ignoring Samson's protests, many of them old Scottish curses, he ran a fingertip along the glossy wood—it'd been long since he'd sailed a ship of the _Swan_'s size but he needed to get home to Isobel. "You three," he called to the Intuits, "hoist the anchor—_Spuedos_!" He turned around and his eyes narrowed on the speck of light in the distance. "For your sake, Jack, I hope we can outsail your bonny boat. If Isobel gets her hands on you—_ayuda del Dios_!"

* * *

_**Author's Babble:**_ Oh I know it's been ages, and I know I should have had this up over Christmas, but I'm exhausted and my life is chaotic so it's actually lucky that this is up at all. Sorry, ye sea rats.

Intuition... let's see..."**karosamina**"(_my precious_)... Ahswa thinks "**Protos eroitoi**_"(she loved him before)… "_**alla dinei huios**_"(but she bore me a son)!_ "**Huios mi**"_(a son of mine)… "_**i no allotrios**_"(and not any other man's)..._ Merito says **me arcon**_"(my leader)._ William tells the Intuits **Spuedos**_"(Quickly! or Hasten!)_

Spanish... William says **Ayuda del Dios**_"(God help you,literally Helpof God or God's help)_

Readers, thank you for continuing to read my tripe, even though I take forever to publish it. _**ErinRua**, _I'm so glad you liked the Murtogg and Mullroy bit. I felt it was time for an interlude at Port Royal. Thank you for sticking with my tale! _**Rogue-Pirate**,_ I apologize for the long wait you had with this conundrum. I hope this installment answers some questions- Jack isn't back in Port Royal, and it's his silly son who's done the wrong: joining the Navy that is. Thank you for reading! Thanks everyone for reading, I apologize in advance for neglecting email and Livejournal as well. I simply have less and less time to accomplish the necessary tasks, let alone frivolous fun such as fanfic writing. I'll try my best to finish this up before July 7, though. I promise you that!


	44. And Fight

All things considered, it was a beautiful day to put into port. The sun shone in the bright blue sky and with the prospect of hocking their wares to the wealthy men living high on the hill on Isle de Fuego, the crew of the _Black Pearl_ was in considerably higher spirits. Even Gibbs did not have a cautionary word for his captain. They stood together on the quarterdeck of the _Pearl_ watching the men and women work below. So easy was the day that when Marty's sharp cry from above shattered the peace, Jack Sparrow was taken by surprise.

"_A ship_," shouted the short man, "_t'port_!"

Sparrow strode forward. Spyglass to eye he scanned the sea, expecting to see the _Swan_ approaching. However, instead of the bonny bird there loomed on the horizon a bulky boat. Jack handed off the telescope to Gibbs and made quickly for his office. He dumped a dissatisfied Ash from her slumber spot, dragged out the shipping route charts for this part of the world, spread them out on his desk, and after a quick look-see found no expected courses charted.

Anamaria burst through the door, her face paler than Jack Sparrow ever liked to see it. She grabbed him by the shirt collar, dragged him to the window, and shoved the spyglass he'd only just held into his hand. "Look!"

Feeling that something was terribly wrong, Jack did not see fit to argue the point that he gave the orders on his ship. He fiddled with the glass and glared out over the sparkling water at the approaching vessel. She'd gained too fast for his liking. Surely, that meant she was… he squinted hard at the flags she flew and muttered an oath at the ensign.

"Aye it's the Spanish, Sparrow—and ya know well how they like ya."

Jack collapsed the spyglass and pushed past Anamaria, and a disheveled Isaac Faust, to take the helm. As Fuego was a small settlement, and not one of particular note, he hadn't counted on encountering the official presence of King Ferdinand's men. The prospect was not one he wished to consider either. Norrington and his men might have eventually acclimated to Jack's presence, but the grudges held by Spaniards were immortal.

"Cap'n," said Gibbs, "she's—"

"Aye, yes, I know," growled Jack, steering off course just a bit, "Spanish!"

"No, not just Spanish," said Gibbs, "she's the _Sangria_!"

Sparrow swore and through his spyglass he saw, indeed, the black flag being hoisted high above the ensign. It bore the unmistakable bloody heart of Captain Ricardo Santos. How Jack hadn't recognized the bloody boat in which he'd been held captive and subsequently escaped from several times, he did not know.

"Santos, again!" Jack closed his eyes, suddenly tired. "Will he never be satisfied?"

"S'pose not, sir."

"**_Ready yourselves, gentlemen_**," Sparrow shouted to his crew. "**_We're being pursued by our old friend, Ricardo Santos!_**"

A cry of dismay went up amongst the crew, and Jack could hardly blame them. Santos' men were not cruel or bloodthirsty. Their idea of a fight well fought was a formal challenge in which the rules of engagement were followed and fully enforced. As privateers, this mode of mannerly murder suited them.

"_Poor excuse for pirates_!"

Jack had no idea who had voiced the protest, but he agreed nonetheless. He was of no mood for Santos' intolerable brand of torture. Following all the rules was boring.

"**_No worries! We'll outrun them_**!" Sparrow turned to Gibbs. "Run out the sweeps!"

"Aye, Jack. That just might do it."

As the _Black Pearl_ leapt into action, Jack begged her to break through the waves with haste. A few moments later, after Gibbs had reported back to his side, it seemed she had acquiesced to his request. He patted the helm approvingly.

"Jack!"

Gibbs' shocked whisper spun him on the spot. Jack gaped out at the galleon of his latest sworn enemy and a furious cry ripped from his throat. He stomped to the railing to glare at the _Sangria_—Santos had equipped her with sweeps since they'd last met.

"Of all the irksome—" his scowl simpered into a smirk as he realized he had yet to pull out all the stops. "**_Full sail! I want every last piece of canvas a-flying!_**"

One of Jack's favorite things about his ship was her rigging. The _Black Pearl_ carried more sail than most ships could claim, and when all her wings were spread she soared fast over the sea. Santos would not, could not, hope to compare.

Heavy cords spooled around the imprisoned sails uncoiled. Groups of men hoisted the canvas until each piece was swollen with the wind. The _Black Pearl_ groaned and lashed forward a bit faster, cutting a furious fan of water behind her.

"Good girl," Jack lauded, petting her helm appreciatively.

But the crew was not as satisfied. Cries of dismay arrested Sparrow, and pointing fingers spun him on his heel. Following not so far behind was the overly-decorated _Sangria_. Santos' ship was at full sail and with more canvas than Jack Sparrow had ever seen on any ship—his fair _Pearl_ included.

"Not one to be outdone is he," Jack snarled. "Even the sails have sails!"

"Aye sir," said Gibbs, "it appears they do."

"Sparrow!" Anamaria's call snapped the captain to attention and he glowered at her, wondering what demand she was about to make. She glowered back. "Ya can't let us to his folly for the mistake o'yer own! Once and for all, Jack, just—apologize!"

This demand, however, was completely out of line. Fury must have shown on Jack's face, for as he strode to Anamaria she quickly backed down the stairs one by one until the two of them stood toe to toe on the main deck. If _any_ of his men had suggested he degrade himself so, they'd be begging his mercy. But Anamaria was a woman and Jack had trouble enough with them to begin with. It was his opinion that punishment of one led only to punishment of one's self—that no woman ever really learned her lesson, and that usually she turned right around to make you learn one yourself. It was this that kept Jack from assigning lashes to her hide, and this that bade him speak without shouting.

"No." And with one last glare he stomped back up the stairs to take the helm and shrugged helplessly for Gibbs' benefit. "I'm all out of ideas, mate."

"Tie 'er to the mast and let us whip 'er hide, Cap'n!"

Jack started and turned around to stare at Gibbs. The man's hair was wild and he stared madly at Anamaria who was lounging rebellious against the main mast. A ruthless light lit Gibbs' eyes and a strange grin twisted his face. Disturbed and not sure how else to rouse the man from his savage stupor, Jack took the flask from Gibbs' pocket and splashed its contents upon his face.

"Oh—er, what were I sayin, Jack?"

"Nothing important, as usual," Jack said, ignoring the other man's scowl. "Now what to do about Santos?"

"Well—no offense, sir, but have you wondered why it is Santos always spares your life?" Jack frowned, but Gibbs plowed on unheeded. "You been at the man's mercy more times'n I can count, Jack. Why's he let ye live, reckon?"

"Because enduring his nonsense for the rest of my life is a fate far worse than death!"

"Enduring nonsense," Gibbs snorted. "I can relate to that," he snickered. At Jack's warning look, he sobered up. "Well, sir," he said haltingly, "don't ye think—well maybe ye ought to… apologize?"

There it was again, that unfathomable word. Apologize! Captain Jack Sparrow, scourge of the seven seas(and possibly the other ones undiscovered) and captain of the last real pirate threat in the Caribbean, did not Apologize to anyone. Certainly he had given his "apologies" several times in the past, and sure he had made certain to act as contrite as was possible under whatever dire situation he'd found himself in, but in general and under ordinary circumstances Jack Sparrow was most certainly not, in any sense of the word, _sorry_.

"If anyone is to say their sorries," he told Gibbs with some dignity, "it should be Santos! **_Roth_**!" All was chaos below. The young man who'd been struggling through the melee of men stopped suddenly in his tracks. He whipped around and wild eyes met Jack's. "I'll need those whistlers!"

If Roth was surprised he didn't show it. He faltered a step but then forced his way back through the crowd, and Jack watched as he disappeared below deck.

"Whistlers, cap'n?"

Jack smiled at Gibbs but said nothing. He glanced out over the water at the ship now fast approaching. It was headed right for them, and if the _Black Pear_l did not move faster or change course… but if she changed course the _Sangria_ would put her in irons, the wind stolen from her sails leaving her locked in place for Santos to catch up… if she changed cour—

"**_Ship sta'bud_**!"

Marty's cry turned Captain Jack Sparrow around. He strode to the railing, prepared to snap out his spyglass if need be, but found abruptly that it was not necessary. There was no ship behind… Muttering oaths, he leaned forward and squinted along the side of his ship and beyond, far beyond, to the pretty little speck sitting in the sea as if she were sunning her gleaming white feathers.

"Bootstrap," he growled, furious at having been outrun and knowing full well that neither Will Turner nor Sam Samson would have been able to find a faster way to where they were going. Jack stormed to the top of the companionway. "**_It's the Swan_**!" He saw Roth approaching and hurried down to meet him and the two other crewmembers that had carried boxes up from the stores. "Let's see what we have here, then, shall we? **_Anamaria_**!" He dragged her by the arm from the mast and pushed her at the boxes. "Arrange twelve men into four teams, three men to a team, two to set up and one to light the fuse!"

"Light the fuse?"

He snarled, ripped open a box, and thrust a long-sticked firework at her. "_Aye, the fuse_!"

Anamaria looked as though she wished to protest but she turned quickly on her heel and strode out into the mess of men to call them to her. "_Lemmy, Tearlach—ya bring yer mates, and I want ya too Cotton_…"

"Roth," said Jack.

"Yes sir?"

"Make sure the men hit their mark."

"But Capt'n," said Roth, taking his arm to stop his going, "what is the mark?"

At that question, Jack Sparrow grinned.

* * *

Aboard the _Swan_, all was peaceful. Anyone who might find themselves on the ship would be surprised to know that not so far in the distant past the _Swan_ had been a battlefield. On waking, Will Turner had not taken well at all to having been hoodwinked by the bags of bones he called "traitors". He had, together with a finally freed Samson, tied the three Intuits to the mast behind the helm. Young Jack Turner had not been pleased with this decision, and had called his father a number of names that had wrinkled even Bootstrap Bill's brow. Will Turner had of course then not been happy with his son, and he had sent him below to peel potatoes as his punishment. Elizabeth Turner had screeched, at her husband, words Bootstrap had never heard before but committed to memory in the case he might ever need them when writing to his most undesirable enemy. Samson, for his part, had revealed to Will Turner, at the most inopportune of moments, just why the Intuits had done what they did. 

"_You_," Will had snarled, leaping up the steps to stand toe-to-toe with his father, "what are you doing sailing my ship, pirate?"

William had smiled at the salutation that he supposed was used to insult him, and reached out to ruffle his son's curls so like his own. "Someone had to do it, son." He puffed on his pipe and let the smoke curl in the air between them. "You were a-resting, and Sam was—all tied up."

Will had scowled at that, and had insisted on being a prat until Elizabeth had not been able to take it anymore, had demanded he join his son in the galley, and had stalked herself over to glare menacingly at Bootstrap Bill Turner. For his part, he had done his best to look suitably chagrined. He had wondered if it worked when she had informed him quite well it hadn't.

"Wipe that look off your face," she snapped. A bit of wind tossed her hair, and William saw in her a fiercer being than his son would ever be. "He's hurt, you know, and it is my opinion that to be so he has every right. I don't know what it is for him but I do know what it is to have a father and it is not far from my imagination to think what misery it would be not to have had one."

"Your father the doting sort, then?" Elizabeth had only inclined her head in answer, and William had snorted. "Well, Lizbeth Turner, fact o' the matter is that some fathers are better not havin' than havin' at all."

Elizabeth had looked out over the ocean and when she had spoken again it was not about Will Turner at all. "Where are we?"

William had then explained the situation, feeling a rush of triumph that this fiery woman breathed oaths at Sparrow for having set them up so. He had thought with some amount of joy that if Sparrow didn't get a licking from Isobel, he certainly would get a lashing from Elizabeth. And he, William, would not have to lift a finger.

Samson had taken it upon himself to spend the remainder of their voyage fishing, since it seemed he refused to have anything to do with William unless it involved sniping and laying guilt upon him. At some point, he had spat at the feet of the snarling Intuits(whom he had goaded for not being able to foresee their interment at the mast) and disappeared below.

William had been about to lash the wheel to the mast behind him and sit down for a bit when he heard the unmistakable sound of—

"_Streamers_!"

Elizabeth had run up the stairs and grabbed hold of William's shoulder, forcing him around. He bristled at her, least not for the blurry reminder that his eyesight was not what it used to be. What he saw out over the distance he knew was the _Black Pearl_ by the shape and size of her, but he couldn't fathom why Sparrow would be firing off an assortment of Chinese party favors.

"What the devil," he murmured, snatching the spyglass Elizabeth had only just taken out and ignoring the subsequent look of reproach she sent his way. He extended the scope and squinted hard through it. Sparrow, steering his beauty by her helm and shouting orders to the men below, came into focus. William traced the stairs down to the main deck of the _Pearl_ and saw the groups of men setting off fireworks. He shrugged, collapsed the glass, and quirked a brow at his son's wife. "Think he's inviting us to a party?"

"A signal, then?"

William shrugged. "Could be he's decided to apologize for his behavior last eve."

"The day that Jack Sparrow gives apology for his behavior," said Elizabeth tartly, "is the day that pigs sprout wings and fly!" She huffed and glared out at the _Black Pearl_. "But let's drop canvas—let him catch up."

"Why would we want to do that?"

"Because," she said through gritted teeth, "I would like a dance with Captain Sparrow." As she stormed down the steps, he heard her mutter, "Maybe if I step on his toes enough, he'll pray to see flying swine inhabit the earth!"

Sighing, William did as he'd meant and secured the helm. In Elizabeth's wake his steps were heavy. He meant to aid her in lowering the anchor, but he made it to deck as Samson's head popped up into view from below and stopped to stare down at him. Green eyes squinted up at him from under the brim of a raggedy hat.

"Wot's that racket?"

"Sparrow's upset to be taking up tail."

"So y'do know your way round here, do ya?" Samson snorted. "Thought y'were full o'it when y'insisted on a swifter route."

"Aye, ye saw fit to tell me that last eve!" Bootstrap glared down at the man's head, resisting the strong urge to kick it. "Now is there anything else ye might like to say to me, Samuel Samson?"

"Aye, there might be."

"Oh really," grit Bill, "and what would that be?"

"Thank ye naet f'sendin' word o' yer bein' amongst th'livin', _ye dirty rotten cheat_!"

"_I could'n send words you bloody idiot! If I'd ha'sent word d'ye think my son would still be 'amongst the livin'_?" He advanced on Sam, his heel hitting the deck hard. Something bade him stop, however, and he raked a hand over his face, spitting an oath. "He'd not be on this ship, I'm certain. Barbossa was many things but never an idiot and always sniffing out what he needed to find with that overly large nose of his! He'd have found Will, and he'd have killed him to lift that curse. He tried, or hasn't anyone told you that story?"

Samson looked affronted, but his sudden lurching upward threw William off balance and the two of them shuffled on deck to make room for the man who'd forced the great Scot out of his way. An errant curl flew out in the wind as Will Turner stared at his father. William reached out to snatch it but Will turned away and hurried to help his exasperated wife who'd been shouting for assistance as William and Samson had argued. They exchanged looks of shame and hurried after Will.

"Aye ye'd naet want to do that all by yer onesies, Missus Turner."

"_No_," she said to Samson, "I wouldn't."

Will spared his father a look over his shoulder before turning to his wife. "Elizabeth, what's happening?" He stared hard across the water at Sparrow's ship. His brow wrinkled with worry. "Is Jack in trouble?"

Elizabeth laughed. She struggled to help the men drop anchor, then as the ship lurched with their stopping, she straightened and dusted off her dainty hands. "He will be."

Will frowned and looked back out over the sea at the _Pearl_. A screaming sparkler streamed aft from her deck. "Fireworks?"

* * *

"And this?" El Capitan Ricardo Santos squinted out at the ship of Jack Sparrow, and he followed the trail of light until it popped right through one of his bright red sails, leaving a blackened hole. "Dios mi, what is this!" 

"_Capitan_—!"

Santos swung around, his face reddening to match the wounded sail. "Do you not see what I see, Lopes?"

"But el capitan, the Sparrow—"

But another scream signaled a new trail of fire and both Lopes and his captain watched as it popped through and soon after deflated a proud, Spanish sail.

"_Es muerte_," Santos shouted, "**_if _Capitan Jack_ does not stop punching holes in my sails_**!"

* * *

Said pirate captain was nearly upon the _Swan_ when it gave a lurch. A cry escaped him; he was dismayed that neither Bootstrap nor Samson had had the forethought to first let down her sails. Without salt, those sailors—! 

He had no choice, then, did he? Change course, and the _Pearl_ would be locked in irons—keep going and they'd splinter the _Swan_—unless…

"Gibbs!"

"Aye, sir?"

"Remember the _Interceptor_?"

Gibbs grimaced. "How could I forget?"

"I believe you called Miss Swann 'daft like Jack', did you not?"

"Well," fidgeted Gibbs, "ye see, sir, it were like thi—"

"Did you or did you not!"

"Aye, Cap'n it seems I did."

"Good. Then it won't surprise you that I'm about to pull the same hokey-pokey with the _Pearl_. _**Drop the starboard anchor**!_" When Anamaria voiced protest, he glared hotly down at her. "**_Drop it, drop it now_**!"

"Cap'n," began Gibbs, "you'll have to—"

"Let go the helm, I know," Jack murmured. And when the anchor jerked the _Pearl_, he did. "**_Hold tight_**!"

But the _Black Pearl_ was not the _Interceptor_. The _Black Pearl_ was bigger, and she was bolder, and she bucked a bit more than Jack Sparrow liked. He stumbled into Gibbs and the two of them toppled to the deck.

From below came shouts and screams from the crew. Jack cringed on hearing Alice Witter's shriek and the resounding slam of his cabin door as the _Pearl_ spun on the water. Heels pounded up the steps and the pirate captain cussed when they faltered. A slim hand clasped his ankle and he scowled down his leg past the ankle the woman had grabbed onto. Ice cold fury showed on her face.

"Stupid pirate," she shrilled, "your tricks are for the birds!"

"Aye m'lady," Jack growled, "they're for a _Swan_ this time!"

"Do you desire to sink your own ship!"

"What!" Jack looked back over his shoulder. The _Black Pearl_'s nose dipped, the sprit spraying sea around his frontmost men, and her stern swung up and wide. "Move!"

He kicked Alice from his person, scrambled up from Gibbs, and leapt over the furious woman to dart down the steps. Most of the crew were too concerned with clinging to the solid parts of the ship, but some men scurried out from their hiding places. They hurried to his side.

"We are going to swing the boom—"

"Why," demanded Anamaria, "why would we do that!"

"_Because_," Jack shouted, "_one swing, two swing, and she'll rest on the blue thing_!" He grabbed hold of the boom and glared down it at the men, and Anamaria, who were yet standing and not obeying his orders. "_We have to even her out! Take hold the boom, **now**!_" When they had, he took a deep breath and shouted the next order, hoping it would work the way he dared to think it would. "**_Pull to port_**!"

Slowly they moved backwards as one, dragging the heavy limb of the _Pearl_ with them. At first it was easy. The boom moved without resistance. But as they approached the other side of the ship, it grew heavy with the wind.

"_Do not let go_!"

Jack was glad to hear Isaac Faust's shout, even if it had been in his ear. He looked aside and found the young man's blue eyes intent on their purpose. Supposing he should be doing the same, he looked to the main sail, which was now rippling with the wind they had previously lost.

"**_Hold tight_**!"

The maneuver had the desired effect; the wind cut short the _Pearl_'s swing. The ship tipped starboard, then port, and her nose lifted high in the air. When the sea came to rest beneath her, bobbing her to and fro, he took a deep, calming breath and looked out at Santos' approaching ship.

The _Sangria _was forced to rock aside, and Jack remembered none too fondly the sway of his own ship when he'd been locked in her brig. His eyes narrowed on Santos' ship, and he noted with some amount of satisfaction that the Spaniard crew was furiously trying to hoist more sails on the mast to make up for those that the whistlers had pierced.

"Right," Jack said to his becalmed men, "ease the boom aside and ready your arms—" he swung around to address the rest of the men, who were no longer cowering but cheering the righting of their ship, "_maim any man who dares attempt to board our _Pearl!"

"Not out for blood?"

Jack turned aside and saw that Isaac had followed him in his haste to get back to the helm. The pirate's lips thinned at the question, but he refused to answer it and instead glanced aside at Alice and Gibbs who had since recovered from the whole ship-swinging incident. The man was gazing worriedly out over the men and the woman was fussing with her mussed clothes. "For heaven's sake, woman, how will you fight in that contemptuous contraption you call a dr—"

The sharp tip of a sword pressed at his throat and frosty eyes stared down its long length into his. "Much of your nonsense I tolerate, Jack, but do not at this moment presume to give me fashion advice!" With that, she whipped the sword away and slid it neatly away—right into the folds of fabric at the top of her gown's skirt. "Really," she cooed, rubbing with gentle fingers at the mark she'd made on his skin, "when have I ever been anything but prepared?"

But Jack hadn't the chance to answer; a barrage of heavy thunks announced the grappling irons of the men trying to board the _Black Pearl_. He hissed, thinking of their sharp claws digging into his ship, and stormed down the stairs to survey the damage himself. His men were at his heels and pushed past him, apparently ready to heed his earlier orders—as one leering interloper cleared the railing, the two redheaded Irishmen leapt forward to deal with him. The smug Spaniard knocked the swords right out of their hands. His mouth opened wide to accommodate a loud laugh, but it died on his lips as two identical fists flew at its source.

"Dios no," he breathed, and was gone a moment later, cries of dismay and a resounding splash a second later informing the Irishmen of their success. They nodded at each other just as the singular Spaniard's many mates made their appearance. Jack fell back as his men rushed forward. He glared hotly into the action for a moment, wanting nothing more than to punish these fellows for having harmed the _Pearl_ with their barbaric hooks, but a blood-curdling scream stopped him in his tracks.

* * *

As soon as the _Black Pearl_ had swung aside to reveal the real target of Sparrow's party favors, those aboard the Swan had gone into a frenzy. William had groaned, recognizing Ricardo's ship, and strode away cursing the winds. Will had tore a path to the small armory and Samson had, on Elizabeth's orders, hurried to untie the three Intuits who might be of use afterall. 

As William passed the passage to the underbelly of the _Swan_, Jack Turner came flying up on deck. A half peeled potato in his hand, he gawked out at the two ships—the closer with black sails and the farther decked in red. He darted after his grandfather, chucking the potato overboard.

"It's not as bad as it looks," William told him, knowing his grandson would start firing off questions. "Trust me."

"But, Bootstrap sir—"

"And what happened to Grandpop, hmm?"

Jack ducked his head, abashed. "Da said we were to call you Bootstrap and nothing else because… because you're nothing else but a pirate."

William rolled his eyes and came to a stop before the mast. "Of course, I'd forgot. My own son has got it out for me, hasn't he?" He looked down at his grandson, who was yet ashamed, and his heart softened—if only a little. "Good thing you listen to your Da though. Fathers do know best."

A shriek startled them to their senses, and William saw a slip of chestnut streak by. He and his grandson watched as Lucy, who'd before been too shy to come on deck, saw the Black Pearl so closeby. She screamed something that sounded suspiciously like 'Uncle Jack' and ran toward the railing.

"Oh no," Jack Turner breathed.

A surge of water rocked the _Swan_, tipping her nearly on her side. William fell, hard to the deck and closed his mouth as salty water filled it. The water washed over him. He heard a muffled scream and then quick as the water had swelled beneath the _Swan_ did it sweep quickly out from under her, tipping her the other way.

"No—Lucy—Jack!"

That scream, William heard. He leapt to his feet, spitting the water from his mouth, and saw with wide eyes that his son's daughter had disappeared from the spot she'd last been standing. He watched, gobsmacked, as his grandson leapt thoughtlessly over the railing into what was surely rough water.

"**_Jack_**!"

* * *

"Fight back the dogs," Jack screamed at Gibbs, "don't let them slobber all over my ship!" 

A thrill of fear shot through him. He had seen the wave of water roll toward the Turners' ship, and a second later he saw Little Lucy screaming his name on deck. His heart was in his throat as she reached the railing just at the moment that the water lifted the _Swan_. He leapt over the stair rail to the main deck, ignoring the sharp pain in his knee, and grabbed hold of a loose cord. He hopped onto the rail of his own ship but was stalled by yet another hand around his ankle.

"Where ya going, ya fool!"

"I made a promise," he shouted at Anamaria. "I aim to keep it!"

When the _Swan_ tipped right, and the water sloshed over her decks, Jack glared at the spot where Lucy clung to the rail. Just as she was forced overboard, he leapt, twisting, over the edge. Soaring sideways through the air between the two ships, he saw Lucy's tumbling form fast approaching and grabbed for her. His arm snatched her to him, and relief washed over him that she hadn't been lost to the sea she so feared.

"S'alright little love," he managed though his already tender ribs were screaming at him, "Uncle Jack's got ye. I promised, 'member that?"

But Lucy's answer was cut short by a sound that Jack Sparrow hadn't anticipated—Elizabeth screaming her son's name. His heart sank. He whipped his head around in time to see the boy dive straight into the choppy water.

"Oh no!"

"Don't worry," he told Little Lucy, "Uncle Jack will—"

But he saw, then, that someone else had been faster. At first, he thought it was the boy's father that had plummeted after him—but when his sharp glance upwards found Will Turner struggling to hold a terrified Elizabeth back, he realized that it had been Bootstrap Bill who had gone after Jack. Irritation pricked at him, and he would've gone after the both of them if he hadn't Little Lucy clutched snugly to his chest. Instead, he used all of his weight to push the two of them toward the _Swan_. After a few attempts they finally made it, Jack Sparrow's boot catching the wooden rung of the ladder built up the side of the hull.

"Alright now," he wheezed at the girl quaking between he and the hull, "just one foot above the other, all the way to the top, Lucy. That's it," he encouraged, following after to keep her steady. "Very good, now we're getting there, see?"

As soon as she'd made it to the railing, he heard Elizabeth's shout and was never happier to see her tear-stained face than he was at the moment that she pulled her daughter over to the safety of the steady deck of the ship. Will Turner's arms went around the two of them, and in the wake of their happy reunion, Jack let go of the rope he'd swung over on and glared down at the water where Bill and his grandson had yet to surface.

Without another thought, he dove. Like a knife he cut the water. Salt stung his eyes and he blinked hard so that he could see. On noting nothing, he rolled over and squinted hard into the distance. A flash of silver caught his eye. He stared hard at it until he realized it was Bootstrap's dagger come loose in the upset water. Closeby were two rolling figures caught in an unforgiving current. Jack Sparrow, holding his breath, swam determinedly in their direction.

Lucky he was that the water calmed as he got closer. Groaning inwardly, he hooked one arm around Bill and with the other grabbed Jack's hand. With the last of his strength he pushed up and up and up—until his head broke the surface of the water and he spluttered at the surface. Bill, who'd by then recovered, shook free of him and swam around to drag his grandson to the surface. Sparrow frowned at him, but was glad to see that Jack had done well in holding his breath—water trickled out of his nose as he thrashed both men that had hold of him.

"Lucy, where's Lucy, I didn't get her—"

"She's safe," Jack Sparrow told the boy, "aboard the _Swan_."

"And that's where we should be," Bootstrap groused. "Your mother's fit to be tied!"

"But—"

Jack Turner's response was drowned out by the clang of many blades clashing above. All three turned their heads up at the sound, and Jack Sparrow groaned. From the sound of it, all the work he'd done to avoid a confrontation with Ricardo Santos had not worked out in his favor. He shared a look with Bootstrap, whose face was strangely stony, and then tiredly swam toward his own ship as the two behind him made for theirs.

Catching the line he'd dropped, Jack Sparrow struggled to pull himself up it, hearing all the while the skirmish above him. Spanish and English words parried back and forth, and Jack rolled his eyes, knowing well that Santos' men were demanding that his crew fight fair and crying out in dismay that the pirates were ignoring the rules of engagement. The clash and clang grew louder with every inch up. There was, however, a brief break in the noise as he tumbled headfirst over the rail, water seeping from his sodden clothes all around him in a great puddle. To his great annoyance, he heard the unmistakable sound of Santos' heels making way for him.

"What is this," the amused voice demanded, "has God brought to me a pirate—or a fish?"

"But el Capitan," protested another too-amused voice, "it looks as though we have been blessed with a great sea rat!"

Loud laughter resounded over the angry shouts of Jack's crew. He scowled and drew himself up to his knees to glare up at Santos. He hadn't the strength to stand, or the wind to—his chest was on fire.

"You are right Lopes," said Santos, whose mustache curled up with a gleeful smile, "he does have more the look of a rat than a fish. A rat who tried to scurry away in fear and cowardice of what we might do to him."

"What," Jack asked, having long ago grown weary of Santos' brand of torture, "talk endlessly about how weak, stupid, and honourless I am? You're right. Shiver me timbers and all that. There's no horror greater than spending more than a moment's time in your mouth's company, Ricardo Santos."

"Ah but it speaks!" Santos snorted and leaned down to smile gloatingly into Jack's face. "You should be lucky to spend even a slip of sand in my company, Jack Sparrow. You are lucky I do not do away with you as you did away with my sister's innocence."

"Innocence!" After all their discussions, still the Spaniard could not be made to understand that his sister had not been the angel he imagined. "I tell you, your sister had none!"

A gasp rippled through the Spaniards of the crowd, the crew of the _Pearl_ groaned as they knew what was to come: Santos and Sparrow had argued the point countless times. Each had been as infuriatingly endless as the last.

"_Puerco_," growled Santos, "if my sister had not innocence, why would she take the vow!"

"To pad her pockets with alms, I expect."

"Ismé is a holy woman of virtue!"

"You can put a thief in a nunnery but you can't make her come out a nun!"

A hoarse, familiar laugh behind Jack drew the attention of the crowd. Jack glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see the man standing there. Even Santos took his eyes of his prey to look at Bootstrap Bill. Strangely, his face blanched and his mustache quivered with his fearful lip.

"Willemo!" He gave a strained laugh and toyed nervously with the black curls upon his shoulders. "Ah, what brings you to our—discussion?"

"Was I not invited?" Bootstrap stepped in front of Jack, forcing Ricardo back a step or two, and placed his hands on his hips. "Hmm?"

Ricardo paled further, and peered over his shoulder worriedly as if expecting to see someone else behind him. He smiled sweetly at Bootstrap, and clasped his hands nervously before him. "Sí, sí—yes of course you are, Willemo. Forgive me my rudeness, my brother."

Jack had, during this odd exchange, climbed to his feet. He swayed precariously for a moment, trying to decide what his next move ought to be. His curiosity got the better of him and he stayed right where he was, looking between the man standing in front of him and the chagrined Spaniard beyond.

Bootstrap winked at Santos. "Don't worry," he said, "Isobel shant hear of it, Cardo—no le diré." Jack saw a small smile tease the corner of his mouth before he turned to lay his arm across Santos' shoulders, steering him away from Jack. "But I must tell you, hermano al hermano—her sister was not the saint you have painted her..."

Ricardo's beady black eyes darted about. His own men were leaning closer, curious to hear what Bootstrap was saying to their captain. Jack's crew was less curious than hostile, having been egregiously aggravated by the Spaniard's tenacious pursuit of their ship, and leered tauntingly at him—they knew well his pride and knew better that it depended largely on the angelic view he had of his sister. Anamaria was the most vocal; she snorted and made a comment that sounded suspiciously like "kicked the habit and made like a rabbit".

"Ah," protested Santos hurriedly, "Willemo—"

"Yes, Cardo?"

"Pienso que," said Santos, gaze darting from his own crew to an innocent Bootstrap Bill Turner, "when you said this was an, ah, discusión hermano al hermano—you were, ah—" Ricardo grimaced, gnashing his teeth over what he must say, "correcto. What you have to say should be para nuestros oídos solamente, comprendes?"

"Ahh," breathed Bootstrap, nodding sagely, "of course. Why don't we just go on over to my ship then, hmm?"

"Your ship?" Jack Sparrow, who had by this time caught up with and sandwiched himself between the two men, glared first at a narrow-eyed Bootstrap and then at a scowling Santos. Much as he wanted to contest the ownership of the fine vessel bobbing beside the _Pearl_, he wanted Santos as far from his person as possible. "Yes, a fine suggestion," he said, shooing the two of them in that direction, "get off my ship." When the two of them had cleared the rail, he began shooing the Spaniards back the other way, towards their ship. "Go on, get off my ship, thanks for stopping, nice of you to drop by, yes, sí, get on now, won't you?"

One of them wavered, and Jack guessed by the overlarge plume stuck on his hat that this was Lopes. The man flinched backward at his shooing, but stood resolute on reaching the rail. He frowned heavily at Jack's shooing hands. "Pero—el capitán did not give us this order, Jack Sparrow."

Jack rolled his eyes and shooed at him again, as he would a stubborn pigeon.

"I will not go." He leaned over the rail and shouted at his company. "_No abandonen la nave. ¡**Vuelto a la Pearl**!_"

"_N—no_," Jack shouted at them, "_no vuelto_!"

Lopes was as annoyed that his crew had listened to Sparrow as Jack was delighted. He scowled. "_¡**Vuelto**_!"

On seeing the Spaniards make to follow Lopes' order, Jack stamped his foot. "**_No vuelto_**!"

This disagreement was, from high on the quarterdeck, an amusing one to behold. Isaac Faust chuckled heartily at the confusion of the Spaniards swinging in limbo to and from the _Pearl_. Every time they obeyed their comrade, Alice Witter cackled delightedly at Jack Sparrow's growing dismay.

From where Anamaria stood, however, the whole debacle was more than irritating. Having the Spaniards off their ship meant they could pick up tack. Determined to do just that, she stalked forward. It was a stroke of luck that the bright plumage of the Spaniard's hat chose the moment of her approach to squawk. With a feral grin, she knocked Jack Sparrow out of the way, pulled her pistol from her hip, and aimed at the frazzled feathers.

"Get off the ship," she spat at the sputtering Spaniard, "or the bird gets it!"

Not far away, Cotton blanched. He reached over and covered his own parrot's eyes with a shaking index finger. It gave an offended squawk and lit from Cotton's shoulder as its feathered friend fluttered from its own perch. The pirates and privateers watched helplessly as the two birds collided in the air and scratched themselves silly on the deck of the _Pearl_ at their feet.

"Oh good," said Jack Sparrow glumly, "they're having a chick fight." He looked earnestly at Cotton and patted the disconcerted man comfortingly on the shoulder. "This could last all day."

* * *

"…so ye see, Cardo," said Bootstrap, "promises of treasure in the afterlife pads the pockets with penance at present." 

For an expanse of time that he could have sworn was longer than it took a giant squid to ruin what could have otherwise been a good thing, he had been explaining to Isobel's brother the story of their seedy sister, the Nun. It was a long and laborious task, for any sort of tale in which Jack Sparrow figured was too complicated to comprehend without much exposition and attention to detail. It also did not help matters that at every interval possible, Santos gasped, sighed, and generally made every audible reaction possible in order to convey his shock at the apparent dishonor of his once saintly sister.

Now the sun was sinking in the sky and the edges of darkness were setting in. It had felt like an eternity, rehashing the sordid tale of his and Jack's escapades with Ismé, and Bootstrap was more than ready to go home to the other, if scarier, sister. Even if his most recent escapade with Jack had ended him up empty handed…

"A lesson your sister well-learned."

"Aiyeee," breathed Ricardo Santos. His mustache fluttered in the wake of his breath. "So much for the power of prayer, hmm?"

"Mmhmm."

"Perdón, mi hermano, but Willemo, whatever is on your mind?" Santos leaned forward, peering quizzically into Bootstrap's rapidly blinking eyes. He whipped the hat off his head and held it resolutely to his heart, unaware as Bootstrap was of the heavy echo of slow, measured steps in their direction. "It occurs to me you are yet in the company of rats," he said. "Maybe you wish for a place on my ship, my Sangria?"

But when William's eyes focused it was on a spot above his head. Santos' great mustache drooped as he frowned. He turned around and lifted one thick brow at the man standing behind him. Will Turner did his best to ignore him, but William knew by the dark look in his eye and the incline of his chin that Will was very interested in his answer to the privateer's suggestion. He therefore refused to respond—willing his son to speak first. It took awhile. Santos was looking hard at the both of them in turn, Will was regarding him with unguarded suspicion, and William was still waiting patiently when finally Will did something that he had not been at all prepared for: he stuck out his hand (stiffly, in all fairness).

William regarded it, noting the callous skin that made it strong, then followed his son's arm up to his face.

"Thank you," he said (not stiffly, but softly), "for saving my son."

Far behind Will, against the blazing sky, was the silhouette of his wife. Elizabeth, William thought, made a fine cameo—and was as stern a taskmaster as Isobel, from the look of it. He had no doubt his son's dove had insisted that Will offer the proverbial olive branch. Well that was fine and dandy—as long as the boy was listening now…

The outline of Elizabeth vanished as William met his son's gaze. It was fierce and fearful at the same time, as if he were daring his father to shake his hand and wondering if he would refuse to do so. A fleeting twitch of his features betrayed his surprise as William clasped the offered hand in his.

"Most welcome," he said, though he did not relinquish the hold on his son's hand until the man's eyes met his with question. He looked into them, trying somehow, someway to see if what he would say would finally make sense to Will. "It would be a father's worst nightmare to see his son gone from the world before he himself took his exit."

Whatever iron Will had steeled himself with melted then, his face at long last softening as he looked down on his father. It was back in an instant though, that iron, and he nodded tersely before letting go William's hand. With one last curious glance at Ricardo Santos, he turned and walked aside to look out over the gleaming sea. William watched him for a long moment before turning back to Isobel's brother.

"Don't think I'll be needing that place on your ship, Cardo."

"Ahhh." Recognition finally dawned on Santos, the intricacies of life taking him as long to understand as it took to tell a tale about Jack Sparrow. "Well it is always there for you should you wish it, mi hermano." They shook hands. "To brothers," he said, "and to their sons… and to their sons, the world."

"Aye," agreed Bootstrap, "the world."

Santos rose from the crate he'd been sitting on. He strolled a distance away and motioned for the Intuits, all three of whom glared contemptuously at him, to prepare a plank for him to cross over to the _Pearl_. William was of the opinion that the only reason they obliged him was to be rid of him as soon as possible—they being Jack's people, he knew they had never been fond of the Spaniard.

"Oh," said Santos, turning round on the spot, "and Willem." He looked pleadingly at Bootstrap, as if his very life depended on the man. "I would be most, ah, thankful were you to not tell Isobel of this nearly drowning you accidente."

"Oh," said William, feigning disinterest, "no worries, Cardo."

"Ah, good."

And with that, Ricardo Santos took his leave of the _Swan_, leaving William to ponder the sky while his son pondered the sea.

"Feathers," groused the _Pearl_'s captain, plucking one offending plume from her seams, "feathers everywhere!"

After the birds had played themselves out, and Cotton's parrot had plucked the victory plume from the vain Spaniard bird's tail, Jack had tiredly ordered his crew to help him clear the deck of its dandery debris. He had tried to order the Spaniards to do the same to no avail. They stood resolute, watching the pirates scramble around picking remnants of bird from Jack's ship. That he didn't appreciate their presence before was magnified tenfold by Lopes' strange taste in millinery decoration.

"This," growled Anamaria, "is for the birds."

"From. This…" Jack picked up a curling yellow feather and squinted at it. "is _from_ the birds."

The sound of boots clopping across his deck lifted Jack's attention somewhere a bit higher than the shiny wood. He watched, nonplussed, as Ricardo Santos crossed the _Pearl_ noisily but without word or apology. It was, he thought, rather insulting—especially when the Spaniards that had been littering the deck also made to follow their captain wordlessly back over to their bloody _Sangria_. Irritated, Jack rose to his feet and watched them make their exit.

"That's that, then?"

But the Spaniards didn't seem to mind his presence, as if he weren't the captain of the ship they'd so rudely boarded without invitation. They pushed past him to the boarding plank that the hangbacks onboard the _Sangria_ had tossed over. Several of them smirked as they passed. Lopes was the last. He paused and his hat's ornamentation puffed out. A flash of curved beak dove into the feathers and on the next sight of it, Jack found one last feather spat in his face. Dismayed, he watched it flutter to its destination, crossing his eyes to see it land on the tip of his nose.

With a snort, Jack snatched it away. "_So good of you to stop by_," he shouted over to the sailors readying the Sangria for castoff. "**_Nice to see you leave_**!"

There was no answer from Ricardo's ship. Its anchors were weighed, Sparrow heard Santos shout a short order, and the _Sangria_ slipped alongside the _Black Pearl_ as if there had been nothing between them. Jack walked the length of his ship shouting salutations at the strangely silent sailors. It occurred to him to ask how in the admiral's name Bootstrap had convinced Santos to beat such a hasty retreat and more importantly, how by the admiral's arms the two had become so familiar. That would have to wait, Jack thought, smirking a bit at the thought of having hoodwinked the Turners into spending some time together. He stood at the prow watching the Spaniards sail off and noted with a narrow eye that Santos had put out the sweeps.

"Bloody bighead."

"Aye," snapped Anamaria, "but 'least he'll be patchin his sails."

"Way I figger," said Gibbs, "his men'll be hauling her weight through the water awhile."

Jack glanced over his shoulder at the two of them and was pleased to see Roth in tow. He winked at the lad and chuckled at the furious flush that reddened his cheeks. His mirth was shortlived, however. There was a loud pop in the distance that could only be cannon fire. He turned and watched in horror as one shot hurtled toward the _Pearl_. It was on them in no time, punched cleanly through three sails, sailed in an arc over Faust's ducking head, cleared the _Pearl_'s rear decoration, and disappeared from sight.

Santos' last word was a plunk and his last laugh, the splash.

William snickered. It was going to be a red sun and the sky bright with orange slices—he had seen sunsets like it enough to know for certain. He folded his arms behind his head, leaned back against the mast, and sighed. There would be fire in the sky when they reached Fuego. He hoped, thinking of Isobel, that there would not be fire waiting for him at port as well.

* * *

_**Author's Babble:** Eh. Yeah. I didn't like Dead Man's Chest very much at all and in fact the movie made me very angry altogether. But I'm finishing this fic up anyway because I don't like leaving things unfinished. I know it's been awhile and I said it wouldn't be but I'm dishonest and you can always trust a potcfic writer to be dishonest... honestly._

_Spanish... dios me is 'my god', capitan is 'captain', es muerte is 'he's dead', puerco is 'pig', no le diré is 'i won't tell her', hermano al hermano is 'brother to brother', discusion hermano al hermano is 'brother to brother discussion', para nuestros oidos solamente comprende is 'for our ears only, understand', pero--el capitan is 'but the captain', no abandonen la nave is 'don't abandon ship', vuelto a la pearl is 'come back to the pearl', no vuelto is 'don't come back', perdon is 'pardon', and accidente is 'accident'._

_Lyn, I'm glad you enjoyed the story and found your comments interesting. Karibbean, thanks I'm glad you like it. And sorry everyone for the wait. It's not really something I can avoid as I have little time to write fic lately. Thanks for sticking around if you are. _


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